THE 


LITERARY   REMAINS 


OF    THE    LATH 


WILLIAM    B.   0.  PEABODY,   D.D. 


EDITED    BY 


EVERETT     PEABODY 


BOSTON: 
PUBLISHED   BY   BENJAMIN   H.    GREENE, 

124,  WASHINGTON-STREET. 

NEW  YOKK:   CHAS.  B.  NORTON.  —  c.  s.  FRANCIS  AND  co. 

LONDON  :  JOHN  CHAPMAN. 
1850. 


Entered,  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1849,  by 

B.  H.  GREENE, 
In  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  of  the  District  of  Massachusetts. 


B  O  S  T  O  N  : 

P  K  I  N  T  ED      BY      JOHN      \V  I  I,  S  O  X, 
IVo.  21,  School-street. 


"Pas" 


PREFACE. 


IT  was  intimated  in  the  volume  containing  the  Memoir 
and  Sermons  of  Dr.  PEABODY,  that  a  collection  of  his  Mis 
cellaneous  Writings  would  be  published.  Accordingly, 
the  present  selection  has  been  prepared  from  his  numer 
ous  contributions  to  the  "  North  American  Review." 
These  were  written  at  different  periods  from  1830  to  1846. 
They  embrace  a  number  of  favorite  subjects,  and  illustrate 
the  extensive  research,  the  enthusiastic  love  of  nature,  the 
delicate  perception  of  moral  beauty,  and  the  lofty  and 
uncompromising  standard  of  right,  which,  blended  toge 
ther  by  his  quiet  humor,  always  characterized  him.  In 
selecting  the  articles  for  publication,  the  object  has  been 
to  give  those  which  have  been  marked  out  as  best  by 
public  opinion,  and  those  which  seemed  to  give  the  most 
faithful  picture  of  his  mind  and  heart.  Omissions  have 
been  made  only  when  dictated  by  the  necessity  of  reduc 
ing  the  article  within  proper  limits,  and  then  such  parts 
have  been  omitted  as  were  not  necessary  to  the  connec 
tion  or  value  of  the  article. 

It  has  been  thought  by  some  of  Dr.  PEABODY'S  friends, 
that  a  volume  of  his  Miscellanies  would  be  incomplete 
without  a  selection  from  his  Poetical  Writings.  At  their 
suggestion,  those  which  seemed  most  worthy  to  be  pre 
served  have  been  brought  together,  and  are  placed  at  the 
end  of  the  volume. 


M61B938 


C  0  N  T  E  N  T  S. 


REVIEWS. 

Page 

STUDIES  ix  POF/TKY 1 

B\'RON  .  .  .  . ..30 

AMERICAN  FOREST-TREES 62 

HABITS  OF  INSECTS  .         .         .         .         .         .         .         .99 

BIOGRAPHY  OF  BIRDS 137 

MEN  OF  LETTERS  AND  SCIENCE,  ART.  I.  .         .  .199 

MEN  OF  LETTERS  AND  SCIENCE,  ART.  II.     .         .   *     .         .  249 

ADDISON 29o 

MARGARET 379 

POETRY. 

To  THE  MEMORY  OF  A  YOUNG  LADY 413 

THE  DEPARTURE 41T> 

LINES  ON  DYING 419 

THE  LAND  OF  THE  BLEST 423 

THE  KISING  MOON 424 

AUTUMN  EVENING       ........  425 

LAMENT  OF  ANASTASIUS 426 

To  A  YOUNG  LADY,  ON  RECEIVING  A  PRESENT  OF  FLOWERS  .  429 

MONADNOCK 432 

Ox  SEEING  A  DECEASED  INFANT 434 

"  AND  THE  WATERS  WERE  ABATED  " 436 

"  MAN  GIVETH  UP  THE  GHOST,  AXD  WHERE  IS  HE  ?  "          .         .  438 

PERICLES 440 

LINES  TO 44o 


R  E  V  T  E  W  S  . 


STUDIES   IN  TOETRY. 


Studies  in  Poetry  ;  embracing  Notices  of  the  Lives  and  Writings 
of  the  best  Poets  in  the  English  Language,  a  copious  Selec 
tion  of  Elegant  Extracts,  a  short  Analysis  of  Hebrew  Poetry, 
and  Translations  from  the  Sacred  Poets  ;  designed  to  illustrate 
the  Principles  of  Rhetoric,  and  teach  their  Application  to  Poe 
try.  By  GEORGE  B.  CHEEVER.  Boston,  1830. 

IF  we  may  form  a  judgment  of  the  estimate  in  which 
poetry  is  at  this  time  held,  from  the  general  practice 
of  the  professors  of  the  art,  we  shall  certainly  be  led 
to  believe,  that  its  voice  is  as  little  regarded  as  that 
of  wisdom.  All  the  great  living  masters  of  the  lyre 
appear  to  have  laid  it  by,  in  order  to  labor  in  a  lower, 
though  perhaps  a  more  productive  field.  It  is  now 
about  fifteen  years  since  Scott,  finding  his  poetical 
popularity  on  the  wane,  and  doubtless  a  little  dis 
mayed  by  the  portentous  brilliancy  of  another 
ascending  star,  gave  up  all  his  powers  to  a  different 
department  of  literature,  with  a  vigor  and  success 
that  leave  us  little  reason  to  murmur  at  the  change. 
Campbell  had  forsaken  the  field  much  earlier,  to 
employ  himself  in  celebrating  the  merits  of  those 
whom  the  world  had  reasonably  expected  him  to 
rival.  The  fine  genius  of  Coleridge  is  bewildered  in 
the  dim  twilight  of  his  strange  metaphysics ;  Southey, 


STUDIES    IN    POETRY. 


with  untiring  diligence,  has  explored  almost  every 
practicable  path  of  prose,  as  he  had  previously  left 
scarcely  any  thing  unattempted  in  rhyme  ;  and  Moore 
appears  to  have  devoted  himself  to  the  task  of  erect 
ing  monuments  to  departed  genius.  This  general 
abandonment  of  poetry,  on  the  part  of  those  who 
have  cultivated  it  with  the  greatest  success,  is  rather 
singular  ;  and  seems  naturally  to  imply,  that  it  enjoys 
less  of  the  public  favor  now  than  has  been  accorded 
to  it  in  former  times.  Such,  in  fact,  is  the  opinion 
of  many,  who  believe  that  the  world  is  growing  too 
busy  and  consequential  to  attend  to  such  light  mat 
ters  ;  that  the  active  spirit  of  the  age  demands  excite 
ment  of  a  different  and  superior  character  ;  and  that 
men  would  now  hardly  stop  to  listen  to  the  notes  of 
inspiration,  even  were  they  uttered  by  an  angel's 
voice.  In  part,  this  opinion  is  probably  well  founded  ; 
but  it  should  not  be  forgotten,  that  we  are  very  liable 
to  error  in  forming  judgments  which  result  from  a 
comparison  of  the  tastes  and  dispositions  of  men 
at  this  day  with  those  of  generations  which  are  past. 
The  present  is  before  us,  while  the  past  is  at  best  but 
very  dimly  seen  ;  and  a  disposition  to  complain  of  the 
prevailing  taste  is  by  no  means  peculiar  to  our  own 
times.  Goldsmith  remarked,  with  ludicrous  bitter 
ness,  that  the  world  made  a  point  of  neglecting  his 
productions  ;  and  Akenside  declared,  that  his  opinion 
of  the  public  taste  would  be  regulated  by  the  recep 
tion  of  Dyer's  "  Fleece  ;  "  but  the  one  was  in  error 
as  to  the  fact,  while  the  other  may  be  said  to  have 
been  mistaken  in  the  law.  Even  if  the  justness  of 
these  complaints  be  admitted,  they  would  only  prove, 


STUDIES    IN    POETRY.  O 

that  the  most  delightful  music  is  at  all  times  heard 
with  difficulty  amidst  the  din  and  crash  of  the  enginery 
of  practical  life.  The  spirit  of  poetry  is  still  present 
with  him  who  meditates  at  eventide ;  with  the  wor 
shipper  of  nature  in  her  solitary  places ;  with  the 
contemplative  in  their  high  and  lonely  tower ;  with 
him  who  is  rapt  and  inspired  by  devotion  ;  and,  even 
if  it  be  driven  from  the  haunts  of  crowded  life,  it  still 
speaks  to  the  soul  in  tones  as  thrilling  and  divine  as 
ever. 

While  we  admit  that  what  is  called  the  spirit  of 
the  age,  though  the  phrase  is  too  often  used  without 
any  very  distinct  perception  of  its  meaning,  is  nol 
very  favorable  to  the  cultivation  of  poetry,  we  must 
at  the  same  time  make  due  allowance  for  the  opera 
tion  of  another  cause,  —  the  influence  of  perverted 
taste.  What  else  could  induce  men  to  welcome  the 
inferior  classes  of  romances,  tales,  and  novels,  which 
are  hourly  poured  forth  from  the  press  in  multitudes 
which  no  man  can  number  ?  To  what  other  cause 
can  we  attribute  the  reception  of  stories  of  fashiona 
ble  life,  written  by  those  who  are  as  little  conversant 
with  its  recesses  as  with  the  court  of  the  Celestial 
Empire;  and  which,  if  the  representation  were  per 
fect,  could  present  no  picture  on  which  the  moral 
eye  would  delight  to  dwell  ?  What  but  perverted 
taste  could  tolerate  the  audacious  depravity  of  novels 
which  would  fain  teach  us  to  look  for  the  beatitudes 
in  the  person  of  the  assassin  and  highway-robber, — 
in  which  we  are  taught,  that  what  men,  in  their 
strange  ignorance,  have  deemed  the  road  to  the  gib 
bet,  is  only  the  sure  and  beaten  pathway  to  honor 


4  STUDIES    IN    POETRY. 

and  happiness  and  successful  love  ?  A  dark  omen 
it  will  indeed  be,  if  productions  like  these,  on  which 
the  moral  sentiment  of  the  community  ought  to  frown 
with  deep,  unequivocal,  and  stem  indignation,  shall 
permanently  usurp  the  place  of  those  which  minister 
to  the  desires  of  our  nobler  nature. 

Upon  looking  back  for  a  moment  at  the  history  of 
English  poetry,  we  do  not  find  many  proofs,  at  any 
period,  of  a  very  just  estimate  of  its  object  and  excel 
lences.  To  trace  it  beyond  the  reign  of  Edward  III. 
is  as  hopeless  as  the  attempt  to  ascertain  the  source 
of  the  Niger  ;  and,  whatever  may  have  been  the  cha 
racter  of  the  earlier  chronicles  and  romances,  there 
is  no  reason  to  believe  that  it  was  at  all  propitious  to 
the  influence  and  diffusion  of  correct  taste.  The 
genius  of  Chaucer,  like  that  of  his  great  contem 
porary  Wickliffe,  instead  of  being  nurtured  by  the 
age,  burst  forth  in  defiance  of  it ;  but  the  hour  was 
not  yet  come ;  and  the  poet's  song  was  followed  by 
silence,  as  deep  and  lasting  as  that  which  succeeded 
to  the  trumpet-call  of  the  stern  reformer.  During 
the  fierce  civil  wars,  and  until  the  reign  of  Henry 
VIII.  there  was  no  such  thing  as  English  literature. 
This  was  the  period  of  the  Reformation,  and  the 
revival  of  letters  ;  yet  it  presents  us  with  few  names 
which  the  lover  of  poetry  is  solicitous  to  remember. 
Love  and  chivalry  have  indeed  given  an  interest  to 
the  melancholy  genius  of  Surry,  which  is  height 
ened  by  the  recollection  that  his  unusual  accomplish 
ments  were  the  only  cause  of  his  untimely  and 
treacherous  murder  :  but  the  poets  of  that  time  were 
little  more  than  mere  translators  of  the  Italian ;  and 


STUDIES    IN    POETRY. 

Sir  Philip  Sidney,  while  defending  poetry  in  general, 
is  compelled  to  acknowledge  the  inferiority  of  that  of 
his  own  country  during  the  two  preceding  centuries. 
But  the  age  of  Elizabeth  may  well  be  considered  as 
the  era  of  its  revival.  This  was  certainly  a  period  of 
high  excitement,  and  distinguished  for  a  bold  and 
animated  spirit  of  intellectual  activity.  Sir  James 
Mackintosh  has  called  it  the  opening  scene  in  the 
political  drama  of  modern  Europe :  it  may,  with  al 
most  equal  justice,  be  denominated  the  opening  scene 
of  English  literature.  The  splendid  genius  of  Greece 
was  just  restored  to  the  world ;  the  "  earthquake- 
voice"  of  the  Reformation  had  sounded  through 
the  vast  of  heaven ;  and  the  mind  had  indignantly 
burst  the  chains  of  protracted  and  ignoble  bondage. 
Every  thing  seemed  propitious  for  the  exhibition  of 
freedom  and  vigor  in  every  department  of  intellect ; 
and,  in  almost  all,  these  qualities  were  signally  dis 
played  ;  but,  with  the  exception  of  one  venerable 
name,  we  find  scarcely  a  single  example  of  great 
excellence  in  any  but  dramatic  poetry ;  in  which  a 
degree  of  superiority  was  attained  which  has  thrown 
the  efforts  of  succeeding  ages  completely  into  shade. 
It  is  true,  that  powers  of  a  very  exalted  order  are 
required  for  success  in  the  higher  class  of  dramatic 
compositions ;  but  we  can  hardly  consider  that  period 
as  very  remarkable  for  poetical  excellence  in  general, 
which  affords  scarcely  an  example  of  any  other. 
This  direction  appears  to  have  been  given  to  poetical 
talent  by  the  taste  of  the  court,  the  influence  of  which 
upon  literature  was  subsequently  very  great.  In  the 
present  instance,  that  influence,  so  far  as  it  went,  was 


6  STUDIES    IN    POETRY. 

highly  favorable :  the  only  cause  of  regret  is,  that  it 
failed  to  extend  to  other  departments  of  poetry,  which 
were  then  struggling  into  existence. 

At  this  time  the  influence  of  the  Puritans  began  to 
be  felt.  They  were  a  class  who  are  hardly  to  be 
judged  by  the  same  rules  which  would  be  applied 
to  the  characters  of  other  men  in  ordinary  times ; 
and  of  whom  it  is  somewhat  difficult  to  speak  in 
proper  terms,  either  of  praise  or  censure.  We  are 
not  ashamed  to  say,  that  we  look  with  admiration, 
and  almost  with  awe,  upon  these  stern  patriots  and 
martyrs  ;  ambitious,  but  to  gain  no  earthly  crown  ; 
burning  with  enthusiasm,  yet  severe  and  immovable, 
as  if  inaccessible  to  human  passion ;  inflexible  and 
haughty  to  man,  because  reverence  was  due  only  to 
the  Most  High ;  despising  all  accomplishments  and 
all  learning,  because  they  counted  them  as  nothing 
in  comparison  with  religion  and  the  word  of  God. 
But  the  state  of  feeling  and  opinion  which  it  was 
their  great  purpose  to  maintain  was  in  some  re 
spects  false  and  unnatural.  While  they  labored  to 
elevate  the  mind,  the  tendency  of  some  of  their 
efforts  could  be  only  to  degrade  it.  They  saw  lite 
rature  prostituted  sometimes  to  unworthy  purposes, 
and  they  straightway  denounced  it  all  as  an  abomina 
tion.  One  might  almost  forgive  this  prejudice,  if  it 
had  been  founded  on  the  writings  of  those  who  have 
been  strangely  denominated  metaphysical,  as  if  meta 
physics  were  only  another  name  for  every  species  of 
extravagance,  These  Malvolios  of  English  litera 
ture,  of  whom  Donne  was  the  common  father,  and 
Cowley  the  anointed  king,  contented  themselves 


STUDIES    IN    POETRY.  9 

with  corrupting  what  the  Puritans  were  anxious  to 
destroy.     Their  writings  appear  to  us  to  be  a  vivid 
delineation  of  the  intellectual  character  and  taste  of 
King  James,  who,  by  a  cruel  insult  to  the  wise  king 
of  Israel,   has  been  sometimes  called  the   English 
Solomon.     They  found  the  age  pedantic,  and  they 
labored  with  eminent  success  to  render  it  still  more 
so.     Never  did  poetry  revel  in  such  wanton  extra 
vagance   and   absurdity.      With   them,   sighs  were 
breathed  in  tempests  ;   tears  were  poured  forth  like 
the  universal  deluge  ;    love  was  nothing  short  of  a 
coup  de  soleil  beneath  the  tropics  ;  pride  was  the  tem 
perature  of  the  arctic  circle,  and  a  lover's  heart  a 
handgrenade.      It  is  sufficiently  obvious,   that   the 
taste  for  this  extravagance  was  not  created  by  those 
who   thus  employed  it;    for   the   prose   writings  of 
some  of  them  —  of  Cowley,  for  example  —  are  full 
of  simplicity,  grace,  and  beauty.     Indeed,  the  mere 
existence  of  the  metaphysical   style  is  a  sufficient 
proof,  that,  if  the  readers  of  poetry  at  this  time  were 
not  indifferent  to  it,  they  were  at  least  not  very  scru 
pulous  in  their  selections.    The  most  exalted  eulogies 
were  lavished  upon  Cowley ;    and  even  Milton  did 
not  refuse  to  praise  what  he  disdained  to  imitate. 
Signs  of  a  more  correct  taste  began  to  be  visible  in 
the  languid  smoothness  of  Waller,  and  the  correct 
mediocrity  of  Denham ;    but  with  what  surpassing 
glory  does  the  venerable  form  of  Milton  appear  in  the 
midst  of  an  age  like  this  !     His  grand  and  melancholy 
genius  was  almost  as  far  removed  from  that  of  his 
contemporaries  as  his  immortal  subject  was  elevated 
above  all  earthly  things.    So  far  from  being  indebted 


8  STUDIES    IN    POETRY. 

to  his  age,  he  was  beyond  it  and  above  it ;  and  it  is 
hardly  too  much  to  say,  that  he  would  have  been 
beyond  and  above  any  other  in  the  history  of  man. 
It  is  no  reproach  to  his  own,  that  men  heard  his  voice, 
and  comprehended  it  not ;  for  what  standard  was 
there,  among  the  poets  of  the  time,  by  which  they 
could  hope  to  measure  such  elevation  as  his  ? 

The  stem  rigor  of  the  Puritans  was  at  length 
followed  by  its  natural  re-action  ;  and  the  literature  of 
the  age  of  Charles  II.  was  a  faithful  transcript  of  the 
character  of  that  degraded  sensualist,  and  still  more 
degraded  king.  It  is  easy  to  conceive  what  the 
worshippers  must  have  been  in  the  temple  of  vice 
and  folly,  in  which  Sedley  and  Etherege  and  Buck 
ingham  and  Rochester  were  chief- priests.  "  The 
fools  of  David's  age,"  says  Sir  William  Temple, 
"  those  who  have  said  in  their  hearts,  there  is  no 
God,  have  become  the  wits  of  ours."  The  personal 
character  of  a  king  is  never  without  its  influence, 
and  in  this  instance  it  was  all-powerful ;  but  it  was 
only  for  the  purposes  of  evil.  In  the  school  of  severe 
adversity,  where  the  milder  virtues  are  commonly 
taught,  he  had  learned  nothing  but  vice,  disguised 
under  the  name  of  pleasure.  Ridicule  was  the 
fashion  of  the  day ;  and  the  subjects  of  that  ridicule 
were  all  things  that  are  venerable  and  holy.  De 
pravity  lost  nothing  of  its  evil,  because  it  lost  nothing 
of  its  grossness :  it  was  tolerated  in  all  its  grossness, 
and  adored  in  all  its  deformity.  It  was  not  surpris 
ing  that  the  want  of  just  moral  sentiment  should  be 
accompanied  by  the  debasement  of  literary  taste. 
Their  tastes,  as  well  as  their  fashions,  were  alike  bor- 


STUDIES    IN    POETRY.  9 

rowed  from  the  French,  who  returned  the  obligation 
by  regarding  England  as  a  nation  of  barbarians. 
St.  Evremond  passed  twenty  years  in  England  with 
out  acquiring  the  slightest  knowledge  of  the  lan 
guage  ;  while  ignorance  of  the  French  language 
was  regarded  by  the  English  as  a  greater  crime  than 
the  violation  of  every  precept  of  the  decalogue.  The 
worst  defects  of  French  literature  were  copied  and 
exaggerated.  Settle  became  a  greater  poet  than 
Dryden,  until  the  latter  stooped  from  his  mountain- 
height  and  the  mid-day  sun,  to  grovel  in  the  dark 
recesses  of  a  polluted  theatre.  The  influence  of  a 
licentious  court  was  visible  also  upon  other  minds ; 
degrading  powers  which  should  have  been  devoted 
to  high  purposes,  and  repressing  every  display  of 
natural  feeling  by  a  general  chorus  of  ridicule  and 
scorn. 

In  passing  from  this  period  to  the  beginning  of 
the  next  century,  we  seem  to  be  coming  forth  from  the 
suffocation  and  gloom  of  the  charnel-house  to  the 
fresh  air  and  clear  light  of  heaven.  We  shall  have 
occasion  presently  to  make  a  few  remarks  upon  the 
characters  of  some  of  the  most  distinguished  poets 
of  that  time ;  and  we  will  only  observe  here,  that  we 
have  no  knowledge  of  any  period  in  English  history, 
in  which  poetry  was  the  object  of  more  general  re 
gard  than  it  was  from  the  beginning  until  the  middle 
of  that  century.  The  circumstances  to  which  we 
have  alluded  furnish  sufficient  evidence  that  the  po 
pular  taste  has  been  often  perverted  ;  but  they  give 
no  evidence  of  indifference  in  regard  to  poetry,  like 
that  which  is  believed  to  prevail  at  this  day.  We 


10  STUDIES    IN    POETRY. 

call  the  present  an  age  of  great  intellectual  excite 
ment,  of  keen  and  restless  enterprise,  and  of  deeper 
insight  into  hidden  mysteries  than  any  of  which  the 
record  has  yet  come  down.  Why,  then,  should  the 
purest  and  not  the  least  elevated  department  of  intel 
lect  be  regarded  with  coldness  and  neglect  ?  The 
true  object  of  poetry  is  to  subject  the  senses  to  the 
soul,  to  raise  the  mind  above  all  low  and  sordid 
purposes,  and  to  fix  its  desires  upon  things  which  are 
honorable  and  high.  If  we  receive  it  with  indiffer 
ence  and  scorn,  if  we  refuse  to  listen  to  its  voice,  the 
loss  is  ours  ;  we  are  casting  away  the  surest  means 
to  lift  our  thoughts  from  the  dust,  the  noblest  instru 
ment  to  elevate  and  purify  the  heart. 

The  moral  tendencies  of  English  poetry  are  such, 
on  the  whole,  as  the  friend  of  virtue  has  much  reason 
to  approve.  There  have  certainly  been  ominous  ex 
amples  of  the  degradation  and  perversion  of  exalted 
powers  ;  but  the  waters  of  oblivion  have  already 
closed  over  some,  and  will,  sooner  or  later,  overwhelm 
the  rest.  It  is  idle  at  this  day  to  say  any  thing  of  the 
moral  influence  of  Chaucer  :  we  might  as  well  enlarge 
upon  the  absurdity  of  the  Koran.  Spenser,  however, 
continues  to  be  read,  though  not,  we  apprehend,  by  a 
large  class  of  readers.  There  is  abundant  reason  to 
regret,  that  the  tediousncss  of  the  allegory,  which 
constitutes  the  story  of  the  "  Fairy  Queen,"  should 
have  withdrawn  from  it  the  public  favor ;  for  it  is 
the  production  of  a  mind  overflowing  with  rich  and 
powerful  thought,  and  a  fancy  full  of  all  delightful 
creations  ;  the  beautiful  ideal  of  chivalry,  when  chiv 
alry  was  only  another  name  for  a  combination  of  all 


STUDIES    IN    POETRY.  11 

the  virtues.  The  poet  appears  to  have  forsaken  this 
lower  sphere  to  hold  communion  with  superior  be 
ings  ;  and  how  could  it  be  expected,  that  the  friend 
of  Sidney  and  Raleigh  —  those  brightest  spirits  of  an 
age  not  wanting  in  generous  and  lofty  ones  —  should 
be  insensible  to  the  influence  of  their  romantic  senti 
ment,  as  it  was  illustrated  and  personified  in  the 
moral  beauty  of  their  lives  ?  It  was  their  influence 
by  which  he  was  led  to  devote  himself,  not  to  the 
study  and  description  of  man  as  he  is,  but  as  ro 
mance  and  chivalry  would  make  him.  It  was  this 
which  induced  him,  instead  of  producing  a  grand 
historical  picture,  to  which  his  powers  were  more 
than  adequate,  to  execute  fancy-pieces  only,  glow 
ing,  indeed,  with  richness  and  beauty,  bat  deficient 
in  the  interest  and  life  which  such  talent,  employed 
upon  more  propitious  subjects,  could  not  fail  to  be 
stow.  He  chose  a  department  in  which  many  have 
failed,  and  in  which  scarcely  any  one  but  John  Bun- 
yan  has  succeeded ;  and  how  much  of  his  power  is 
to  be  attributed  to  the  awful  realities  of  his  subject ! 
Still  it  is  the  praise  of  Spenser,  that  he  consecrated 
his  delightful  harmony,  his  beautiful  and  not  unfre- 
quently  sublime  description,  and  all  the  creations  of 
an  imagination  of  unrivalled  splendor,  and  of  inven 
tion  almost  boundless,  wholly  to  the  cause  of  virtue. 
Would  that  the  same  praise  were  equally  due  to  his 
far  greater  contemporary  !  But  Shakspeare  wrote 
apparently  without  any  moral  purpose  :  he  took  the 
tales  which  ancient  chronicles  afforded  him,  or  chance 
threw  in  his  way  ;  and,  by  his  inspiration,  he  created 
a  living  soul  under  these  ribs  of  death.  If  they  gave 


12  STUDIES    IN    POETRY. 

him  a  moral,  it  was  well.  Now  we  hear  strains 
which  seem  to  flow  from  a  seraph's  lyre ;  presently, 
those  which  the  depths  of  vulgarity  could  hardly 
essay  to  rival.  Moral  dignity  and  disgusting  coarse 
ness,  the  loftiest  sublimity  and  the  lowest  grossness, 
are  occasionally  blended  together,  like  the  hovels 
and  palaces  of  a  Russian  city.  Ingratitude  is  de 
nounced  —  and  how  denounced  !  —  in  the  heart 
rending  agony  of  Lear  ;  the  dreadful  penalty  of 
guilty  ambition,  and  the  keen  anguish  of  late  re 
morse,  are  displayed  with  terrific  power  in  Macbeth  ; 
while  in  Hamlet  we  see  only  a  spirit  crushed  and 
broken  beneath  a  burden  which  it  cannot  bear,  faith 
ful  to  duty,  but  overmastered  by  the  consciousness 
that  fate  has  imposed  upon  it  a  duty  beyond  its 
ability  to  do.  But  who  can  point  us  to  the  moral 
purpose  of  "  Romeo  and  Juliet,"  or  the  "  Merchant 
of  Venice,"  or  of"  Cymbeline  "  ?  The  heart,  with  all 
its  high  aspirings,  its  guilty  depths,  its  passions,  its 
affections,  and  its  powers,  was  laid  full  and  open  to 
Shakspeare's  view ;  all  the  elements  of  incomparable 
genius,  and  every  divine  gift,  were  imparted  to  him 
with  a  liberality  hardly  ever  vouchsafed  by  Provi 
dence  to  man  before :  but  he  looked  upon  man  and 
nature,  without  looking  beyond  them  to  the  God  of 
all ;  and  thus  the  mind  which  was  formed  for  all 
succeeding  ages,  and  compounded  of  all  imaginable 
glories,  astonished,  instructed,  overawed,  and  de 
lighted  men,  without  making  them  better.  It  is  pre 
sumptuous  to  say  what  Shakspeare  might  have  been, 
when  human  eloquence  can  hardly  adequately  tell 
what  Shakspeare  was  ;  but  we  believe  that  he  was  too 


STUDIES    IN    POETRY.  13 

often  induced  by  a  fancied  necessity  to  sacrifice  his 
own  superior  thoughts  to  the  influences  of  an  age 
which  "thought  no  scorn"  of  grossness,  such  as 
would  sicken  the  purer,  though  not  fastidious,  taste 
of  ours.  The  descent  was  not  wholly  nor  always 
voluntary ;  though  the  gratification  of  minds  as  far 
below  his  own  as  the  sparrow's  is  lower  than  the 
eagle's  flight,  can  hardly  excuse  the  aberrations  of 
an  intellect  like  his. 

The  moral  influence  of  the  drama  has  not  in  gen 
eral  been  of  the  most  exalted  kind.  The  reason  of 
this  is  not  that  it  is  incapable  of  being  rendered  full 
of  instruction,  or  that  it  is  in  its  nature  at  all  inferior 
in  this  respect  to  any  other  description  of  poetry. 
On  the  contrary,  there  is  perhaps  no  form  of  com 
position  in  which  the  most  elevated  lessons  can  be 
brought  more  directly  home  to  the  heart,  —  none  in 
which  those  sentiments,  by  which  our  minds  are  said 
to  be  purified,  can  be  more  impressively  or  forcibly 
displayed.  It  may  thunder  forth  its  warnings  and 
threatenings  with  the  awful  energy  of  inspiration  ;  it 
may  utter  the  burning  accents  of  intense  and  over 
whelming  passion ;  it  may  allure  or  terrify  us  with 
the  solemn  persuasion  of  real  and  living  example. 
In  these  respects,  it  occasionally  goes  beyond  other 
poetry,  as  far  as  the  quivering  muscles,  the  distorted 
features,  and  the  convulsive  agony  of  the  victim  of 
actual  torture  may  be  supposed  to  afford  a  more 
vivid  idea  of  suffering  than  the  marble  Laocoon. 
The  evil  is,  that,  in  holding  the  mirror  up  to  life,  it 
reflects  all  the  images  towards  which  its  surface  may 
chance  to  be  directed.  In  the  sister,  but  inferior, 


14  STUDIES    IN    POETRY. 

arts  of  painting  and  sculpture,  the  human  form  is 
represented,  not  with  its  blemishes,  not  in  its  deform 
ity,  but  with  something  of  the  purity  of  ideal  perfec 
tion  ;  and  thus  the  representations  of  poetry,  so  far 
as  respects  their  effect,  should  be  adapted  to  the 
desires  of  the  mind  :  they  should  present  us,  not  with 
that  which  may  sometimes  be,  for  that  would  excuse 
all  possible  grossness  ;  but,  in  humble  imitation  of  the 
obvious  system  of  Providence,  they  should  labor  to 
exhibit  virtue  in  all  its  loveliness  and  beauty,  without 
throwing  an  unnatural  gloss  and  attraction  over  sen 
suality  and  vice.  How  often  have  men  forgotten, 
that  the  only  true  object,  and  all  the  real  dignity,  of 
literature  are  lost  sight  of,  when  it  is  designed  to 
charm  only,  and  not  to  elevate  !  It  may  be  said  that 
the  purpose  of  the  dramatic  writer  is  to  please,  and 
his  productions  must  therefore  be  adapted  to  the 
taste  of  his  judges;  but  the  cause  of  any  fault  can 
hardly  be  pleaded  as  its  apology. 

Passing  over  the  dramatic  writers,  we  come  again 
to  Milton.  He  stood  apart  from  all  earthly  things. 
He  may  be  likened  to  that  interpreter  of  the  mysteri 
ous  things  of  Providence  who  sits  in  the  bright  circle 
of  the  sun  ;  while  Shakspeare  resembles  rather  the 
spirit  created  by  his  own  matchless  imagination, 
which  wanders  over  earth  and  sea,  with  power  to 
subdue  all  minds  and  hearts  by  the  influence  of  his 
magic  spell.  The  poetry  of  Milton  is  accordingly 
.solemn  and  dignified,  as  well  becomes  the  moral 
sublimity  of  his  character,  and  the  sacredness  of  his 
awful  theme.  His  mind  appears  to  have  been  ele 
vated  by  the  glories  revealed  to  his  holy  contempla- 


STUDIES    IN    POETRY.  15 

tion  ;  and  his  inspiration  is  as  much  loftier  than  that 
of  other  poets,  as  his  subject  was  superior  to  theirs. 
It  is  superfluous  to  say,  that  his  moral  influence  is 
always  pure ;  for  how  could  it  be  otherwise  with 
such  a  mind,  always  conversant  with  divine  things, 
and  filled  with  the  sublimest  thoughts  ?  Yet  it  has 
been  sometimes  said,  that  the  qualities  with  which 
he  has  endued  that  most  wonderful  of  all  poetical 
creations,  the  leader  of  the  fallen  angels,  are  too 
fearfully  sublime  to  be  regarded  with  the  horror  and 
aversion  which  they  ought  naturally  to  inspire.  He 
is  indeed  invested  with  many  sublime  attributes,  —  the 
fierce  energy,  unbroken  by  despair ;  the  unconquera 
ble  will,  which  not  even  the  thunders  of  the  Almighty 
can  bend  :  but  these  qualities,  though  they  may  fill 
us  with  wonder  and  awe,  are  not  attractive.  His 
tenderness  is  only  the  bitterness  of  remorse,  without 
end  and  hopeless ;  his  self-devotion  is  only  the  result 
of  wild  ambition  ;  and  a  dreadful  retribution  at 
length  falls  upon  him,  "  according  to  his  doom."  In 
this  exhibition  of  character,  there  is  undoubtedly 
vast  intellectual  power  ;  but  there  is  nothing  redeem 
ing,  nothing  which  can  win  the  soul  to  love.  We 
dread  the  effect  of  those  delineations  in  which  crime, 
from  which  nature  recoils,  is  allied  to  qualities  with 
which  we  involuntarily  sympathize :  such  portraits 
are  of  evil  tendency,  because,  though  unnatural, 
they  are  still  attractive ;  but  great  crime  frequently 
supposes  the  existence  of  imposing  traits  of  character, 
which  may  excite  admiration  without  engaging  sym 
pathy.  We  are  interested  in  Conrad,  because  his 
fierce  arid  gloomy  spirit  is  mastered  by  the  passion 


16  STUDIES    IN    POETRY. 

which  masters  all,  —  because  in  him  it  is  deep  and 
overwhelming,  yet  refined  and  pure,  like  the  token 
which  restored  the  repenting  peri  to  Eden,  —  the 
redeeming  and  expiatory  virtue,  which  shows  that 
the  light  of  the  soul,  however  darkened,  is  not  extin 
guished  altogether ;  and  we  do  not  ask  how  purity 
and  love  can  find  their  refuge  in  a  pirate's  bosom,  — 
\ve  do  not  remember,  that  they  could  as  hardly  dwell 
there  as  Abdiel  among  the  rebel  host.  Not  so  the 
ruined  archangel.  In  him  all  may  be  grand  and 
imposing ;  but  all  is  dark,  stern,  and  relentless.  If 
there  be  aught  to  admire,  there  is  at  least  nothing  to 
imitate.  Through  all  the  writings  of  Milton,  there 
reign  a  loftiness  and  grandeur  which  seem  to  raise 
the  soul  to  the  standard  of  his  own  elevation.  The 
finest  minds  have  resorted  to  them  for  the  rich  trea 
sures  of  eloquence  and  wisdom  ;  and  they  might  also 
find  in  them  the  more  enduring  treasures  of  piety 
and  virtue. 

We  have  already  found  occasion  to  offer  some 
remarks  upon  the  literature  of  the  age  of  Charles  II. 
It  is  a  subject  on  which  we  have  little  inclination  to 
dwell;  but  it  is  with  sorrow  and  shame  that  we  see 
the  influence  of  such  an  age  exhibited  upon  a  mind 
like  that  of  Dryden.  They  drove  him  to  devote 
powers  intended  for  nobler  purposes  to  gratify  the 
polluted  tastes  of  a  shameless  court ;  and,  by  a  just 
retribution,  his  dramatic  compositions  can  hardly  be 
said  to  have  survived  him :  not  one  of  them  is  at  this 
day  acted,  or  generally  read.  We  see  him,  first, 
embalming  the  blessed  memory  of  the  Lord  Protector ; 
then,  exulting  in  his  Sacred  Majesty's  most  happy 


STUDIES    IN    POETRY. 


17 


restoration;  next,  fabricating  rhyming  tragedies  to 
gratify  the  French  prejudices  of  a  king  who  was  not 
ashamed  to  become  the  pensioner  of  France,  or  las 
civious  comedies  to  minister  to  the  grovelling  inclina 
tions  of  the  Defender  of  the  Faith  ;  presently,  descend 
ing,  like  one  of  Homer's  deities,  to  the  field  of 
political  and  religious  controversy.  Thus  the  intellect 
which  was  formed  to  illuminate  the  world  was 
quenched  in  the  obscurity  of  low  or  temporary  sub 
jects  ;  thus,  with  power  to  become  a  great  reformer, 
he  chose  to  follow  in  the  track  of  vulgar  prejudices; 
instead  of  asserting  his  just  rank  as  a  sovereign,  he 
made  himself  a  slave  ;  and  the  result  is  before  us  in 
the  fact,  that  his  reputation  is  now  almost  wholly 
traditional,  and  would  hardly  be  known  otherwise, 
but  for  the  noble  "  Ode  for  St.  Cecilia's  day."  We 
are  not  insensible  to  the  unsurpassed  excellence  of 
his  versification,  or  the  blasting  power  of  his  satire ; 
but  the  traces  of  elevated  moral  sentiment,  and  of 
admiration,  or  even  perception,  of  the  grand  and 
beautiful  in  nature  and  in  character,  are  rarely  to  be 
discovered  in  his  writings.  Perhaps  he  was  cautious 
of  displaying  what  must  have  excited  the  immea 
surable  contempt  of  the  wits  by  whom  he  was  sur 
rounded. 

The  beginning  of  the  last  century  was  distin 
guished  by  the  genius  of  Pope ;  of  whom  nothing 
can  now  be  said  that  has  not  frequently  been  said 
before.  There  are  still  many  who  persist  in  denying 
his  title  to  the  honors  of  the  poetical  character,  with 
a  zeal  which  nothing  but  the  ancient  penalties  of 
heresy  will  be  able  to  subdue.  If,  however,  he  has 

2* 


18  STUDIES    IN    POETRY. 

been  assailed  by  Bowles,  he  has  found  no  vulgar 
champions  in  Byron  and  Campbell ;  and  if  he  were 
living  now,  it  would  doubtless,  in  the  language  of 
Burke,  "  kindle  in  his  heart  a  very  vivid  satisfaction 
to  be  so  attacked  and  so  commended."  It  is  not 
easy  to  believe  him  to  have  been  the  least  among  the 
poets,  who  could  shoot  with  such  unequalled  bril 
liancy  into  the  upper  sky,  while  Addison  was  still  in 
the  ascendant,  and  when  the  star  of  Dryden  had 
hardly  yet  gone  down.  Nature  was  not,  perhaps, 
always  regarded  by  him  with  a  poet's  eye ;  for  it 
seemed  then  as  if  she  was  to  be  abandoned  to  pas 
torals  ;  as  if  one  might  scarcely  venture  to  go  forth 
into  the  country,  without  arming  himself  with  a  shep 
herd's  crook.  But  he  was  the  poet  of  manners 
and  of  social  life ;  and  it  is  not  the  smallest  of  his 
merits,  that  he  made  poetry  familiar  to  thousands  who 
had  never  felt  its  influence  before.  The  tendency 
of  his  writings  is  precisely  what  might  be  expected 
from  a  knowledge  of  his  character  ;  —  a  character  of 
which  Johnson,  whose  praise  issues  forth  like  a  con 
fession  extorted  by  the  rack,  is  compelled  to  speak, 
in  general,  with  commendation.  Early  and  unre 
lieved  infirmity  rendered  him  irritable,  while  the 
unbounded  admiration  which  was  so  profusely  lav 
ished  upon  him  made  him  vain ;  and  both  these 
qualities  are  abundantly  exhibited  in  some  of  his  writ 
ings,  where  the  sins  of  his  enemies  are  visited  upon 
those  who  had  never  offended  him,  and  character  is 
wantonly  invaded,  apparently  with  the  sole  design  of 
displaying  his  extraordinary  power.  In  some  in 
stances,  he  aims  to  rival  the  unapproachable  vulgar- 


STUDIES    IN    POETRY. 


19 


ity  of  Swift ;  but  the  wit  is  a  poor  atonement  for  the 
grossness. 

The  "  Rape  of  the  Lock"  was  denounced  by  the 
frantic  criticism  of  Dennis,  as  deficient  in  a  moral ; 
while  Johnson,  with  his  usual  politeness,  thought  no 
moral  more  laudable  than  the  exposure  of  mischiefs 
arising  from  the  freaks  and  vanity  of  women.  It  is 
obvious  enough,  however,  that  Pope,  except  in  the 
"  Essay  on  Man,"  and  perhaps  in  his  "  Epistles  and 
Satires,"  had  rarely  any  moral  purpose  in  his  view ; 
but  it  would  be  difficult  to  defend  the  morality  of  the 
verses  "  To  the  memory  of  an  Unfortunate  Lady," 
or  of  some  of  his  imitations  of  Chaucer.  We  are 
often  told,  that  satire  is  a  powerful  auxiliary  of  truth  ; 
and  there  is  no  doubt,  that,  even  while  indulging  in 
the  gratification  of  personal  resentment,  or  any  other 
equally  ignoble  passion,  the  satirist  may  promote  that 
cause  by  his  denunciations  of  vice  and  folly  ;  though 
the  effect  will  certainly  be  diminished  by  the  mean 
ness  of  the  motive.  But  he  is  too  apt  to  grow  so 
warm  in  the  cause  as  totally  to  overlook  the  higher 
object,  in  his  zeal  to  overwhelm  an  adversary,  or  to 
take  vengeance  upon  the  world  for  the  fancied  ne 
glect  or  injury  of  a  single  individual.  In  addition  to 
this,  he  is  often  seduced  by  the  popularity  which  is 
sure  to  attend  invective  against  some  fashionable  vice 
or  folly,  of  which  the  succeeding  age  retains  no 
traces ;  so  that  the  fashion  and  the  reproof  soon 
perish  together.  His  object  may  be  a  laudable  one, 
though  it  will  be  far  less  important,  and  far  less  last 
ing  in  its  effect,  than  it  would  be  if  he  should  expose 
vice  and  imperfection  as  they  exist  universally,  and 


20  STUDIES    IN    POETRY. 

at  all  times.  The  satires  of  Donne  are  now  forgotten, 
notwithstanding  the  rich  drapery  which  Pope  thought 
fit  piously  to  throw  over  his  old-fashioned  and  some 
what  ragged  habiliments.  Those  of  Dryden,  as  we 
have  already  intimated,  were  founded  upon  subjects 
of  local  or  temporary  interest.  His  u  Absalom  and 
Achitophel"  was  levelled  at  a  faction,  which  soon 
experienced  the  fate  of  all  other  factions ;  his 
"  Medal"  was  written  upon  the  occasion  of  Shaftes- 
bury's  escape  from  the  fangs  of  a  grand  jury ;  and 
his  "  MacFlecknoe,"  for  the  laudable  end  of  extermi 
nating  his  successor  in  the  Laureate's  chair.  Young 
is  less  liable  to  this  objection  than  any  other  English 
satirist ;  but,  great  as  was  his  popularity  in  his  own 
day,  his  "  Universal  Passion"  has  sunk  into  obscu 
rity.  The  "  Vanity  of  Human  Wishes  "  and  "  Lon 
don"  are  the  effusions  of  a  nervous  and  powerful 
mind,  more  strongly  tinctured  with  misanthropy  and 
indignation  than  with  sound  philosophy.  In  our  own 
times,  we  have  seen  Gifford  marching  forth  with  the 
port  and  bearing  of  Goliath,  against  a  host  of  butter 
flies,  who  naturally  enough  took  wing  at  the  din  and 
fury  of  his  onset ;  and  we  have  seen  Byron  also, 
visiting  the  coarse  malignity  of  a  single  reviewer 
upon  all  his  literary  brethren,  with  a  wantonness  and 
injustice  which  he  was  himself  the  first  to  regret. 
We  may  thus  perceive,  that,  if  satire  be  the  instru 
ment  of  virtue,  it  is  so  often  borrowed  for  other  pur 
poses,  that  virtue  is  not  always  able  to  employ  it  for 
her  own ;  and,  when  those  other  purposes  have  been 
accomplished,  the  benefit,  if  there  be  any,  is  not  per 
manent.  The  artillery  may  remain,  but  the  foe  has 


STUDIES    IN    POETRY.  21 

vanished.  Some  of  Pope's  satires  are  of  universal 
and  lasting  application ;  but  the  "  Dunciad"  is  little 
better  than  a  monument  of  wrath,  erected  in  memory 
of  departed  and  forgotten  dunces. 

The  English  poetry  of  the  last  century  was,  upon 
the  whole,  more  elevated  in  its  moral  tone,  than  that 
of  any  former  period.  It  may  be  considered  as  a 
cause  as  well  as  an  evidence  of  this  superiority,  that 
some  of  the  most  eminent  writers  at  its  commence 
ment,  who  exerted  a  powerful  influence  over  public 
taste  and  sentiment,  were  men  of  pure  and  unques 
tionable  character.  Addison  was  then  at  the  meri 
dian  of  his  stainless  fame.  He  had  taught  the  world 
a  lesson  which  it  was  too  slow  to  learn,  that  the 
attractions  of  wit  and  eloquence  may  gracefully  be 
thrown  around  truth  and  virtue ;  and  that,  in  order 
to  become  a  good  and  popular  writer,  it  is  not  indis 
pensably  necessary  to  be  an  atheist  and  blasphemer. 
If  he  is  deficient  in  the  vigor  and  power  of  some  of 
those  who  went  before  him,  it  should  be  remembered, 
that  the  character  of  his  works  was  not  in  general 
such  as  essentially  to  require  or  to  afford  very  full 
opportunity  for  the  display  of  either.  His  main 
intention  was  to  describe  life  and  manners ;  to  apply 
the  force  of  ridicule  to  the  foibles  and  follies,  as  well 
as  to  the  faults  and  vices,  of  social  life ;  to  present 
truth  and  morality  in  alluring  colors  to  those  who 
had  been  previously  disgusted  at  its  stern  and  repul 
sive  aspect ;  and  it  cannot  be  doubted,  that,  as  far 
as  the  influence  of  a  single  mind  could  go,  this  object 
was  successfully  accomplished.  The  same  praise  is 
equally  due  to  Richardson,  wThose  name  seems  now 


22  STUDIES    IN   POETRY. 

to  be  better  known  and  more  respected  in  other 
countries  than  in  his  own.  One  who  is  led  by  curio 
sity  to  read  his  novels,  though  he  cannot  fail  to  read 
them  with  interest,  and  to  admire  the  purity  of  the 
sentiment  and  the  vivid  delineations  of  passion,  can 
yet  hardly  form  a  conception  of  their  popularity  when 
they  first  appeared.  Addison  taught  the  intellect 
and  fancy,  and  Richardson  the  passions,  to  move  at 
the  command  of  virtue ;  the  influence  of  both  was 
great  and  extensive  over  the  sentiments  and  taste  of 
others ;  and  we  cannot  but  think,  that  much  of  the 
superiority  of  the  period  immediately  succeeding 
that  in  which  they  lived  to  that  which  preceded,  in 
refinement  and  delicacy  at  least,  if  not  in  morality, 
is  to  be  attributed  to  the  example  which  they  gave. 
It  is  true  that  the  essentially  coarse  and  vulgar  minds 
of  Fielding  and  Smollett,  abounding  as  they  did  in 
humor  and  vivid  powers  of  describing  life  and  cha 
racter,  did  much  to  weaken  the  impression  which 
Richardson  had  made  ;  nor  was  it  owing  to  any  want 
of  effort  that  they  failed  to  corrupt  moral  sentiment 
completely.  But  they  were  not  successful ;  and  any 
one  who  will  turn  to  Southey's  "  Specimens  of  the 
later  English  Poets  "  (we  cannot  find  it  in  our  hearts 
to  ask  a  fellow-creature  to  read  them  through)  will 
be  surprised  to  find  in  how  few  instances  morals  and 
decency  were  disregarded  or  outraged  by  the  poets, 
small  and  great,  of  any  part  of  the  last  century.  It 
is  impossible  to  speak  of  any  considerable  portion  of 
them  at  length,  nor  is  it  necessary.  We  will  barely 
advert  for  a  moment  to  three  of  them,  whose  writings 
are  at  this  time  more  generally  read  than  those  of 


STUDIES    IN    POETRY.  23 

any  of  the  rest.  It  may  here  be  observed,  however, 
that  this  period  embraces  very  many  names,  particu 
larly  in  the  earlier  part  of  it,  of  which  England  will 
long  continue  to  be  proud.  With  all  its  variety  of 
excellence,  there  is  little  that  savours  of  copy  ism  or 
of  affectation.  What  can  be  more  unlike  than  the 
mild  sweetness  of  Goldsmith,  and  the  gloomy  mag 
nificence  of  Young ;  the  gentle  pathos  of  Collins,  and 
the  homely  strength  of  Johnson ;  the  classical  ele 
gance  of  Gray,  and  the  native  simplicity  of  Burns  ? 

There  are  few  who  do  not  love  to  contemplate  the 
two  great  masters  of  descriptive  English  poetry, 
Thomson  and  Cowper  ;  with  whom  we  seem  to 
converse  with  the  intimacy  of  familiar  friends,  and 
almost  to  forget  our  veneration  for  the  poets,  in  our 
love  and  admiration  of  the  virtues  of  the  men.  Both 
had  minds  and  hearts  which  were  touched  with  a 
feeling  of  the  beauty,  and  fitted  to  enjoy  the  influ 
ences,  of  nature ;  and  the  poetry  of  both  was  ele 
vated,  if  not  inspired,  by  religious  veneration  of  the 
great  Author  of  the  grand  and  beautiful.  The  view 
of  Thomson  was  bold  and  wide ;  it  comprehended 
the  whole  landscape ;  he  delighted  to  wander  by  the 
mountain-torrent,  and  in  the  winter's  storm ;  and  it 
seemed  as  if  the  volume  of  nature  was  open  and 
present  before  him.  It  is  not  so  with  Cowper.  His 
lowly  spirit  did  not  disdain  the  humblest  thing  that 
bore  the  impress  of  his  Maker's  hand ;  he  looked 
with  as  keen  an  eye  of  curiosity  and  admiration  upon 
the  meanest  flower  of  the  valley,  as  upon  the  wide 
expanse,  glittering  in  the  pure  brilliancy  of  Avinter's 
evening,  or  bright  with  the  dazzling  glory  of  the 


24  STUDIES    IN    POETRY. 

summer  noon.  He  made  the  voice  of  instruction 
issue  from  the  most  familiar  things,  and  invested 
them  with  beauty,  hourly  seen,  but  never  felt  before  ; 
and  he  painted  them  all  with  the  pure  and  delightful 
coloring  of  simplicity  and  truth.  Who  is  there  but 
must  wish,  that  Burns  had  held  communion  with 
such  minds,  and  resorted  to  the  fountain  of  their 
inspiration  ?  We  know  not  that  he  was  inferior  to 
either  in  quickness  to  feel,  or  power  to  describe,  all 
that  is  bright  and  alluring  in  nature  or  in  the  heart : 
but  there  is  something  startling  in  the  dark  and  fierce 
passions  which  overshadowed  his  better  nature ;  in 
the  wild  and  reckless  blasphemy  by  which  he  insulted 
man,  and  defied  his  God ;  in  the  stunning  notes  of 
that  frantic  debauchery  by  which  he  was  at  length 
mastered,  and  brought  down  to  the  dust.  The  feel 
ing  of  devotion  steals  upon  him,  like  the  recollections 
of  earlier  and  happier  years ;  love,  pure  and  disinte 
rested  love,  subdues  sometimes  the  fury  of  his  soul 
to  gentleness  and  peace ;  his  proud  and  manly  spirit 
appears  sometimes  to  burst  its  fetters,  and  restore  the 
wanderer  to  virtue :  but  the  effort  is  over,  and  it  is 
vain.  He  sinks  into  the  grave,  friendless  and  broken 
hearted  ;  and  his  example  remains,  like  a  light  upon 
a  wintry  shore,  whose  rays  invite  us,  whither  it  would 
be  death  to  follow. 

We  are  unwilling  to  enumerate  Rogers  and  Camp 
bell  among  the  poets  of  the  last  century,  though  the 
great  works  of  both  were  published  before  its  close, 
and  though  the  latter  part  of  it  is  so  far  inferior  to 
the  first,  in  the  number  of  its  illustrious  poetical 
names,  as  to  require  some  such  addition  to  the  list. 


STUDIES    IN    POETRY.  25 

The  sweet  music  of  both  is  associated  with  our  most 
pleasing  recollections.  The  lyre  of  Rogers  resem 
bles  an  instrument  of  soft  and  plaintive  tone,  which 
harmonizes  well  with  the  memory  of  our  early  days  ; 
that  of  Campbell  is  no  less  sweet,  but  deeper  and 
more  powerful,  and  struck  with  a  bolder  hand.  Both 
are  in  strict  and  constant  unison  with  virtue.  Indeed, 
with  one  or  two  ominous  exceptions,  it  is  delightful 
to  perceive  the  moral  beauty  of  the  poetry  of  this 
age  in  general.  Moore,  it  is  true,  is  an  old  offender. 
He  appears  to  have  composed  the  lascivious  pretti- 
nesses  of  his  youth  much  in  the  same  manner  as  the 
unfledged  votaries  of  fashion  affect  the  reputation  of 
grace  and  gallantry  ;  and  we  occasionally  find  symp 
toms  of  love-making  in  his  verses  now,  which  it  is  high 
time  for  a  person  of  his  years  and  discretion  to  have 
done  with.  It  is  the  recollection  of  these  which  goes 
far  to  diminish  the  pleasure  with  which  we  should 
otherwise  welcome  his  sacred  and  lyric  song.  But 
what  shall  we  say  of  Byron,  riven  and  blasted  by  the 
lightning  of  his  own  relentless  passions  ;  hurried  on 
ward,  often  against  the  persuasion  of  his  better  feel 
ings,  as  the  sailor's  bark  in  the  Arabian  tale  is  dashed 
by  some  mighty  and  mysterious  impulse  upon  the 
fatal  rock  ?  The  light  that  was  in  him  became  dark 
ness  ;  and  how  great  was  that  darkness  !  His  exam 
ple,  we  trust,  is  destined  rather  to  dazzle  than  to 
blind  ;  to  warn,  but  not  to  allure.  We  do  not  now 
remember  any  other  high  examples  of  this  moral 
delinquency.  In  Wordsworth  we  see  a  gentle  lover 
of  nature,  always  simple  and  pure,  and  sometimes 
sublime,  when  he  does  not  labor  to  give  dignity  to 


26  STUDIES    IN    POETRY. 

objects  which  were  never  meant  to  be  poetical. 
Southey's  "  gorgons  and  hydras  and  chimeras  dire  " 
are  well-trained ;  and  the  minstrelsy  of  Scott  is  of 
a  higher  strain  than  that  of  the  times  of  which  he 
sung. 

Literature,  in  reference  to  its  moral  tendency,  is 
of  three  kinds  ;  one  of  which  is  decidedly  pernicious  ; 
another,  indifferent  in  its  character,  being  neither 
very  hostile  nor  very  favorable  to  correct  sentiment ; 
and  a  third,  decidedly  pure  and  happy  in  its  influ 
ence.  By  far  the  greater  part  of  English  poetry 
appears  to  us  to  belong  to  the  last  of  these  classes ; 
but  there  are  portions,  and  considerable  portions  too, 
which  belong  to  both  of  the  others.  We  seem  hardly 
to  have  a  right  to  claim,  that  it  should  always  be 
actually  moral ;  and  yet  the  writer  who  forgets  this 
object  forgets  one  of  the  great  purposes  for  which  his 
talent  was  bestowed.  There  is  another  error  for 
which  poetry  is  responsible,  —  that  of  presenting 
false  views  of  life.  Most  young  poets  are  as  des 
perately  weary  of  the  world,  as  if  they  had  traversed 
it,  and  found  it  all  vanity.  We  learn  from  a  high 
authority,  that  misery  is  the  parent  of  poetry ;  but 
we  should  be  led  to  believe,  from  the  tone  of  many 
of  our  bards,  that  poetry  is  the  parent  of  misery. 
Young  proposed  to  draw  a  correct  picture  in  his 
"  True  Estimate  of  Human  Life."  He  published  that 
part  which  represented  it  in  eclipse  ;  but  the  bright 
side  was  unhappily  torn  in  pieces  by  some  lady's 
misanthropic  monkey.  In  his  "  Night  Thoughts," 
life  is  painted  in  no  very  alluring  colors ;  but  the 
sunbeam  breaks  through  the  dark  masses  of  the  cloud. 


STUDIES    IN    POETRY.  27 

We  do  not  complain  of  the  satirists  for  this ;  for  such 
is  the  very  end  of  their  vocation.  The  views  of  life 
which  every  writer  presents  will  be  colored  in  some 
degree  by  his  own  circumstances,  and  state  of  feel 
ing  ;  but  we  suspect,  that  the  most  melancholy  poets 
have  not  in  general  been  the  least  inclined  to  enjoy 
the  world  in  their  capacity  of  men,  and  that  they 
have  often  drawn  more  largely  from  imagination 
than  experience.  This  fault,  however,  is  not  a  very 
common  one  among  English  poets  of  the  highest 
order.  All  their  faults,  indeed,  are  few  and  small  in 
comparison  with  their  great  and  varied  excellences. 
We  regard  it  as  an  extraordinary  fact,  that  so  little 
attention  has  been  paid  to  English  literature  in  gene 
ral  by  those  who  must  be  considered  most  competent 
to  understand  its  value.  Our  systems  of  education 
make  our  youth  familiar  with  that  of  early  ages,  and 
of  other  nations :  an  acquaintance  with  it  is  consid 
ered  indispensably  necessary  for  every  gentleman  and 
scholar ;  while  little,  comparatively  very  little,  has 
been  done  to  acquaint  us  with  that  which  we  may 
call  our  own,  at  the  period  of  life  when  the  heart 
would  most  deeply  feel  the  beauty,  and  the  ear  be 
most  sensible  to  the  music,  of  the  "  Lowland  tongue." 
Until  recently,  no  provision  whatever  has  been  made 
in  our  literary  institutions,  either  to  turn  the  attention 
of  the  student  towards  it,  or  to  guide  him  in  his  vol 
untary  inquiries.  In  our  schools,  English  poetry  has 
been  employed  as  an  exercise  for  teaching  boys  to 
read,  from  time  immemorial ;  but  nothing  has  been 
said  or  done  to  induce  the  pupil  to  believe,  that  the 
poetry  was  originally  written  for  any  other  purpose. 


28  STUDIES    IN    POETRY. 

Now,  without  undervaluing  the  literature  of  other 
countries  or  of  antiquity,  we  believe  that  the  business 
of  education  is  only  half  accomplished,  so  long  as  our 
own  literature  is  neglected.  Within  a  few  years,  a 
better  spirit  has  been  visible  ;  but  we  are  not  yet 
acquainted  with  any  treatise  upon  the  subject  of 
English  literature,  —  any  critical  examination  of  its 
merits.  The  field  is  a  broad  one ;  and  we  trust  it 
will  not  long  be  justly  said,  that  its  treasures  are 
within  our  reach,  but  that  we  have  neither  solicitude 
nor  even  inclination  to  gather  them. 

We  are  pleased  with  this  volume,  both  because  it 
offers  an  indication  of  a  growing  interest  in  the  sub 
ject,  and  because  the  tendency  of  such  works  will  be 
to  excite  attention  towards  it.  Mr.  Cheever's  selec 
tions  in  general  afford  evidence  of  correct  judgment 
and  cultivated  taste.  We  should  hardly,  however, 
have  extracted  the  poetry  contained  in  the  Waverley 
novels,  in  order  to  give  the  most  exalted  idea  of 
Scott's  poetical  genius ;  or  have  given  the  "  Soldier's 
Dream,"  as  one  of  the  best  of  Campbell's  smaller 
productions  ;  and  we  think,  that,  in  his  selections 
from  Southey  and  Moore,  the  compiler  might  have 
drawn  more  largely  from  the  earlier  writings  of  the 
one,  and  the  "  Irish  Melodies "  of  the  other.  Nor 
can  we  readily  admit  the  equity  of  the  rule  which 
allows  to  Graham  and  Bloomfield  twice  the  space 
which  is  allotted  to  Pope.  But  these  are  small  blem 
ishes  ;  and,  after  all,  it  is  by  no  means  certain  that 
readers  in  general  will  not  approve  his  taste  at  the 
expense  of  ours.  The  selections  from  most  of 
the  poets  are  accompanied  by  well- written  and  dis- 


STUDIES    IN    POETRY.  29 

criminating  sketches  of  the  characteristics  of  their 
style.  On  the  whole,  though  the  compilation  is  stated 
to  have  been  made  for  the  use  of  the  young,  it  is  one 
which  persons  of  mature  age  may  read  with  pleasure 
and  advantage. 


3* 


30 


BYRON. 


Letters  and  Journals  of  Lord  Byron.     With  Notices  of  his  Life. 
By  THOMAS  MOORE.     Vol.  I. 

WHEN  Dr.  Clarke,  the  traveller,  was  entering  the  wa 
ters  of  Egypt,  he  saw  the  corpse  of  one  who  had  fallen 
in  the  battle  of  the  Nile  rise  from  its  grave  in  the  ocean, 
and  move  slowly  past  the  vessels  of  the  fleet.  It  was 
with  somewhat  similar  misgivings  that  we  saw  the 
resurrection  of  Lord  Byron  from  the  waves  of  time, 
which  soon  close  over  the  noblest  wreck,  and  leave 
no  trace  of  the  spot  where  it  went  down.  Unless 
there  were  something  new  to  be  said  in  his  favor,  it 
seemed  needless  to  bring  him  again  before  the  public 
eye.  The  world  was  as  well  acquainted  with  his  frail 
ties  as  with  his  transcendent  powers  ;  the  sentence 
of  the  general  voice,  which  is  not  often  reversed,  had 
been  pronounced,  though  with  much  hesitation  ;  he 
was  declared  entitled  to  a  place  among  the  great ; 
but,  though  he  had  the  elements  of  a  noble  nature, 
no  one,  so  far  as  wre  know,  claimed  for  him  a  place 
among  the  good.  We  regretted,  therefore,  to  have 
his  name  and  character  brought  up  again  for  judg 
ment,  unless  for  the  purpose  of  vindication.  Such 
is  not  the  effect,  whatever  may  have  been  the  design, 


BYRON. 


31 


of  the  volume  before  us.  Mr.  Moore,  though  he 
loved  and  honored  Byron,  has,  in  thus  gratifying  the 
public  curiosity,  rendered  no  service  to  the  memory 
of  his  friend. 

We  are  disposed  to  rank  high  among  the  better 
feelings  of  our  nature  the  one  which  leads  us  to  spare 
and  respect  the  dead,  and  makes  us  indignant  at 
every  attempt  to  draw  their  frailties  to  the  light, 
which  cannot  plead  necessity  in  its  justification. 
We  feel  grateful  to  those  who  have  delighted  us, 
even  when  they  have  done  so  with  their  enchant 
ments  ;  we  are  beholden  to  them  for  whiling  away 
some  of  the  drearier  hours  of  existence  ;  and  when 
they  are  gone,  where  our  gratitude  or  censure  can 
no  longer  reach  them,  we  feel  as  if  their  memory 
were  left  in  our  charge,  to  be  guarded  from  wanton 
condemnation.  We  could  see  their  forms  under  the 
dissecting-knife  at  Surgeons'  Hall  with  more  patience 
than  we  can  see  their  reputation  made  the  sport  and 
gain  of  mercenary  writers.  We  know  that  the  "  Life 
of  Johnson  "  is  a  standing  excuse  for  authors  of  this 
description,  though  we  see  not  why  ;  for  Boswell 
would  sooner  have  cut  off  his  hand,  than  have  wil 
fully  disparaged  his  "  illustrious  friend ;  "  and  throwgh 
all  his  defects  of  judgment  and  style  his  great  subject 
towers,  like  Westminster  Abbey,  whose  melancholy 
grandeur  is  not  destroyed  by  the  meanness  of  the 
objects  round  it.  In  his  work,  there  is  no  violation 
of  that  sacred  law  of  human  feeling,  which,  like  the 
gentle  process  of  nature,  seals  up  the  grave,  and 
covers  it  with  verdure  and  flowers.  But  this  law 
has  been  sadly  broken  in  the  case  of  Byron  ;  a  man 


32  BYRON. 

who,  with  all  his  faults,  —  and  we  have  no  disposition 
to  deny  them,  —  was  never  Avanting  in  generosity  to 
his  friends.  Some  of  them  have  preyed  on  his 
memory  like  vultures  ;  from  the  religious  Mr.  Dallas, 
who  was  dissatisfied  wilh  the  gift  of  several  rich 
copy-rights,  down  to  Leigh  Hunt,  who  intimated  his 
independence  of  the  commonplace  opinion,  which 
insists  on  gratitude  for  golden  favors.  Others,  also, 
of  the  strange  companions  among  whom  the  chances 
of  his  life  and  the  waywardness  of  his  temper  threw 
him,  retailed  his  most  unguarded  words  and  actions, 
subjecting  him  to  a  scrutiny  which  few  'men's  lives 
and  language  will  bear.  But  the  public  feeling, 
which  is  not  apt  to  be  permanently  misled,  had  set 
tled  down  into  the  conviction,  that  Byron,  with  all 
his  failings,  was  to  be  admired  and  pitied  as  well  as 
censured  ;  that  he  was  an  unfortunate  man  of  genius, 
made  up  originally  of  strong  powers  and  passions  ; 
obliged  to  pass  through  the  double  trial  of  prosperity 
and  misfortune,  both  perhaps  equally  severe  ;  and, 
by  these  disturbing  forces,  drawn  aside  from  the 
orbit,  in  which,  with  a  happier  destiny,  he  might  still 
have  been  shining  as  brilliantly  as  any  great  light  of 
the  world. 

Mr.  Moore  does  not  attempt  to  give  any  regular 
examination  of  Byron's  character,  aware  perhaps 
that  the  thing  was  impossible  ;  for,  if  by  character 
be  meant  the  decided  leaning  of  the  habits  and 
feelings  towards  good  or  evil,  it  would  be  no  more 
correct  to  speak  of  his  character  than  of  the  bearing 
of  a  vessel  drifting  on  the  sea  ;  or.  if  we  mean  by 
character  the  general  impression  received  by  one 


BYRON.  33 

who  reads  his  history,  it  is  evident  that  such  an  one 
could  gather  no  single  impression.  Every  change  in 
Byron's  life  was  a  new  experiment  or  adventure 
suggested  by  the  moment's  whims ;  each  new  deed 
contradicted  the  report  of  the  one  that  went  before  it ; 
like  the  mercury  in  the  weather-glass,  he  varied  with 
the  changes  of  the  air.  Sometimes  he  rose  to  a 
noble  height  of  virtue ;  then  sunk  low  in  degrada 
tion  :  sometimes  he  breathed  out  noble  sentiment  in 
inspired  language ;  then  profaned  his  lips  with  the 
dialect  of  hell :  sometimes  he  practised  a  hermit's 
self-denial ;  then  gave  himself  up  to  appetite  and 
passion.  The  very  climate  of  the  country  where  he 
happened  to  be,  seemed  to  spread  its  influence  over 
him.  All  his  manliness  melted  away  into  effemi 
nacy  under  an  Italian  sun ;  all  the  strength  of  his 
mind  and  heart  seemed  to  revive  among  the  living 
shores  and  mountains  of  Greece ;  and  this,  while  it 
shows  that  he  had  great  and  active  energies  within, 
proves  also,  that,  like  others  who  want  principles  of 
action,  he  needed  something  external  to  excite  them. 
In  him,  these  principles,  and  the  unconquerable  will, 
were  entirely  wanting  :  the  rough  hands  of  others 
struck  out  the  fire  from  his  soul.  His  inconsistencies, 
arising  from  this  cause,  are  equally  perplexing  to  his 
enemies  and  admirers  ;  each  falter  in  making  up 
their  judgment ;  the  former  hesitate  in  the  midst  of 
their  sternest  condemnation,  conscious  that  all  was 
not  evil,  and  doubtful  whether  they  are  not  more 
just  to  his  vices  than  his  virtues  ;  while  his  admirers, 
in  the  moments  of  their  warmest  enthusiasm,  find 
recollections  stealing  over  their  minds  which  fill  them 


34  BYRON. 

with  indignant  shame.  They,  too,  doubt  sometimes 
whether  they  are  not  misled  by  their  reverence  for 
genius,  and  hardly  know  whether  they  feel  most 
sorrow  for  its  perversion  or  wonder  at  its  power. 

The  literary  fate  of  Byron  is  a  remarkable  exam 
ple  of  the  indulgence  shown  to  men  of  genius.  The 
world  is  apt  to  be  rigid  enough  in  its  exactions  from 
others ;  but  it  offers  them  a  perpetual  absolution  for 
all  offences,  even  for  their  waste  of  those  powers  by 
which  it  wishes  and  hopes  to  be  delighted  ;  it  receives 
these  spendthrifts  of  talent  with  unwearied  forgive 
ness,  however  far  they  may  have  wandered  ;  it  per 
mits  them,  like  conquerors,  to  trample  on  all  rights 
and  laws  ;  it  finds  something  beautiful  in  their  very 
scorn  ;  nations  worship  them  in  the  blaze  of  their  fame, 
and  weep  with  mournful  sensibility  over  their  fall. 
We  rejoice  to  see  that  the  world  can  transfer  its 
enthusiasm,  in  any  degree,  from  military  to  intellec 
tual  greatness,  and  only  desire  that  it  may  be  careful 
in  selecting  its  objects  of  adoration.  In  the  un 
guarded  moments  of  rapture,  it  may  place  its  honors 
on  unworthy  brows,  and  thus  hold  out  an  encourage 
ment  to  all  kinds  of  perversion.  Intellectual  men 
should  read  their  duty,  as  well  as  triumph,  in  a 
nation's  eyes ;  and  whenever,  in  their  writings,  they 
pass  the  limits  of  decency  and  moral  restraint,  instead 
of  doing  it  with  the  confidence  that  great  errors  will 
be  pardoned  to  great  genius,  should  feel  themselves 
driven  back  by  a  lightning-glance  of  indignation. 
When  the  power  of  the  mind  is  growing  so  fast,  it  is 
of  immense  importance  to  make  the  feeling  of  literary 
obligation  firm  and  strong,  and  to  enforce  it  with  an 


BYRON. 


35 


authority  which  will  neither  be  defied  nor  resisted  ; 
and  this  can  be  done  without  difficulty,  because  men 
of  taste,  and  poets  more  than  others,  have  their  intel 
lectual  being  in  the  world's  good  opinion.  The  poel, 
more  than  all,  needs  this  restraint  of  general  opinion. 
The  historian  makes  a  slow  and  patient  impression 
on  others ;  the  force  of  the  orator,  except  in  subjects 
of  unusual  interest,  is  felt  in  a  space  hardly  broader 
than  the  thunder-cloud  of  the  storm ;  but  the  works 
of  Byron,  like  those  of  Scott,  not  confined  to  the 
bounds  of  their  language,  have  been  read,  we  have 
no  doubt,  by  the  northern  light  at  Tornea,  and  by 
the  pine-torch  under  the  Rocky  Mountains;  and,  in 
all  the  various  regions  between,  made  the  wayfaring 
forget  their  weariness,  and  the  lonely  their  solitude, 
bearing  enjoyment  to  a  million  of  hearts  at  once,  as 
if  by  supernatural  power.  No  human  power  can 
rival  that  of  the  great  poet  of  the  day  ;  and,  should  it 
become  wild  and  lawless,  no  despotism  under  which 
the  earth  suffers  and  mourns  is  half  so  fatal  to  the 
interests  of  men. 

Perhaps  there  never  was  one  to  whom  the  right 
direction  which  the  world  thus  has  it  in  its  power  to 
give  was  more  important  than  to  Byron  ;  for,  as  may 
appear  in  what  we  shall  say  of  him,  he  was  remarka 
bly  deficient  in  self-dependence,  except  when  wrought 
up  with  passion  :  his  irresolute  judgment  was  strongly 
contrasted  with  his  genius.  Powerful,  indeed,  he 
was ;  he  came  not  at  a  time  when  the  field  of  suc 
cess  was  open  ;  perhaps  there  has  not  been  a  period 
when  a  greater  number  of  bright  stars  were  met  in 
the  heavens.  Campbell  was  shining  in  the  pure  bril- 


36  BYROX. 

liancy  of  his  stainless  fame ;  Southey  was  pouring 
out  his  wild  and  beautiful  epics  with  a  happy  disre 
gard  of  party  censure  ;  Wordsworth  was  pleading, 
as  he  believed,  for  neglected  nature,  with  a  gentle 
and  unregarded  voice ;  Moore  was  reposing,  like  an 
eastern  sovereign  in  his  sultry  halls  ;  at  this  moment, 
apparently  most  inauspicious  for  his  rising,  did  this 
new  and  eccentric  orb  shoot  from  the  horizon  to  the 
upper  sky,  and  in  every  step  of  his  ascension  held 
men  breathless  with  admiration,  till  his  brightness 
"  was  changed  into  blood."  But  he  seemed  to  take 
a  perverse  delight  in  trifling  with  his  own  power,  and 
showing  that  he  valued  an  imagination  as  splendid 
as  ever  was  lighted  in  the  soul,  no  more  than  a 
camera  lucida  or  magic  lantern ;  and  the  world 
still  deafened  him  with  applause,  even  when  he 
poured  out  strains  of  sensuality  in  music  worthy  of 
an  angel's  tongue.  Nothing  would  convince  men 
of  his  dishonor :  they  still  believed  in  his  integrity, 
as  they  insisted  on  regarding  Napoleon  as  a  friend  of 
freedom,  long  after  he  had  worn  the  crown.  Let  it 
not  be  thought,  strange,  that  we  associate  these  two 
names ;  for,  great  as  Napoleon  was,  Byron  was  abso 
lute  and  undisputed  sovereign  of  the  heart,  —  a  region 
in  which  the  other  had  no  power.  Byron  could  send 
to  millions  the  highest  enjoyment  with  a  few  rapid 
touches  of  his  celestial  pen  ;  and,  while  the  throne  of 
the  oppressor  is  broken,  he  still  exerts  a  mastery 
which  grows  and  widens  as  the  brass  and  marble 
decay.  They  were  not  wholly  unlike  in  their  des 
tinies  :  deluded  by  the  reverence  of  men,  each 
became  a  suicide  of  his  own  welfare ;  and,  remem- 


BYRON.  37 

bering  that  they  are  great  examples  to  all  future 
ambition,  we  regret  the  less  that  they  perished  as  they 
did ;  though  each  might  have  left  a  glorious  name, 
the  one  as  the  bravest  warrior  that  ever  fought  the 
battles  of  freedom,  the  other  as  the  greatest  poet  of 
his  age. 

Any  observer  of  human  nature  may  be  interested 
in  the  fact,  that  men  are  always  most  zealous  in  their 
enthusiasm  for  characters  which  are  somewhat  doubt 
ful,  as  well  as  great.  The  admirers  of  a  man  like 
Washington  criticize  him  with  freedom,  knowing  that 
he  can  only  gain  by  discussion  ;  but  the  partisans  of 
eminent  characters  like  those  I  have  mentioned,  as  if 
conscious  that  any  opening  for  inquiry  would  over 
throw  their  favorite  passion,  meet  every  suggestion 
of  the  kind  with  an  outcry  precisely  resembling  that 
with  which  the  worm-eaten  governments  of  Europe 
welcome  every  proposal  of  reform.  This  fervor  is 
not  so  flattering  to  such  men  as  is  generally  imagined : 
it  implies  that  their  admirers  are  far  from  being  per 
suaded  of  their  real  excellence,  though  they  are 
resolute  in  maintaining  their  own  opinion.  This  is 
illustrated  by  the  passion  for  Byron.  When  he  first 
became  generally  known,  which  was  not  till  after 
his  first  cantos  of  "  Childe  Harold "  appeared,  his 
name  was  surrounded  with  a  colored  cloud  of 
romantic  associations ;  and,  perceiving  the  charm  to 
be  derived  from  the  slight  mystery  then  resting  on 
his  condition  and  character,  he  kept  up  the  illusion 
by  all  the  means  in  his  power  ;  new  portraits  of  him 
self,  in  striking  attitudes  and  drapery,  were  perpet 
ually  held  before  the  public  eye  ;  and  by  these  means 
4 


38  BYRON. 

he  inspired  a  deep  feeling,  not  precisely  of  respect  or 
regard,  but  of  something  more  tenacious  than  either  ; 
so  that  now  his  admirers  hold  fast  their  early  opinions 
of  him,  as  a  lover  clings  to  his  first  impressions ;  deter 
mined  to  maintain  them,  right  or  wrong,  and  resent 
ing  as  a  personal  affront  every  attempt  to  exhibit  his 
character  in  its  true  light.  This  book  will  give  an 
unpleasant  shock  to  their  imaginations ;  but,  at  the 
same  time,  they  have  seen  his  character  in  a  glass  so 
darkly,  there  is  so  little  distinctness  in  their  concep 
tions  of  him,  that,  like  the  spirits  in  Milton's  battle, 
his  existence  cannot  be  endangered  by  any  mortal 
blow ;  he  is  a  vision  of  fancy  in  their  minds,  too 
unsubstantial  to  be  measured  ;  their  opinion  of  him 
is  not  a  judgment,  but  a  feeling,  which  neither  argu 
ment  nor  evidence  can  overthrow. 

But  there  are  others  who  never  have  thought  it 
necessary  to  give  up  their  hearts  to  the  great  poet  of 
the  day ;  who  have  neither  taken  part  with  Byron 
nor  against  him.  To  them  this  book  will  wear  a  very 
different  aspect :  they  Avill  receive  it  as  the  deliberate 
testimony  of  a  friend,  of  course  as  partial  as  truth 
and  justice  will  allow,  and  will  see  with  some  sur 
prise  that  the  strongest  feelings  awakened  by  it  are 
those  of  sorrow  and  shame.  It  is  painful  to  see  this 
disproportion  between  the  moral  and  intellectual 
characters  of  distinguished  men  ;  and,  though  history 
might  prepare  them  for  such  disappointment,  they 
are  always  dismayed  to  find  those  to  whom  Heaven 
has  been  most  liberal  of  its  gifts,  unfaithful  in  the 
use  of  them.  Their  kind  feeling  will  be  severely 
tried  by  this  Life  of  Byron;  they  will  say  of  his 


BYRON.  39 

mind,  as  he  did  of  Greece,  that  it  is  strange,  that, 
when  nature  has  formed  it  as  if  for  the  residence  of 
the  gods,  man  should  take  a  mad  delight  in  making 
a  wilderness  and  a  ruin.  For,  without  overstating 
his  defects,  it  is  true  that  they  will  look  in  vain  through 
this  work  for  any  traces  of  a  sense  of  duty,  either  in 
the  use  of  his  social  privileges  or  his  intellectual 
powers ;  they  will  see  too  much  levity  and  profane- 
ness,  without  Avit  or  humor  to  cover  its  grossness ; 
they  will  see  something  offensive  at  times  in  the  style 
of  the  biographer's  apologies  for  him,  Avhen  they  are 
made,  not  as  if  necessary,  but  in  deference  to  com 
mon  opinion ;  they  will  find,  that  he  went  through 
the  world  at  the  wind's  pleasure,  and  that  his  path, 
though  occasionally  lighted  up  with  flashes  of  good 
feeling,  was  not  such  as  his  friends  love  to  remem 
ber.  In  the  natural  regret  for  this  waste  of  life  and 
talent,  they  may  chance  to  visit  his  memory  with 
even  more  severity  than  it  deserves ;  and  therefore 
we  take  the  opportunity  of  referring  them  to  one  or 
two  circumstances,  without  which  his  merits  cannot 
be  understood,  and  which  will  show,  that,  with  all 
his  apparent  felicity  of  birth  and  fortune,  he  Avas 
more  to  be  pitied  than  condemned. 

The  chief  misfortune  of  Byron  was  his  want  of 
early  kindness  and  instruction.  The  mind  resembles 
a  garden,  in  Avhich  floAvers  and  fruit  must  be  culti 
vated,  or  weeds  Avill  groAv ;  and  few  could  be  found, 
even  among  vagrants  and  outcasts,  more  unfortunate 
than  Byron  in  the  guardians  of  his  tender  years. 
His  father  Avas  a  Avorthless  libertine,  Avho,  after  the 
death  of  his  first  victim,  married  Miss  Gordon,  the 


40  BYRON. 

poet's  mother,  with  a  view  to  her  property,  which 
was  large,  but  soon  wasted.  His  great  uncle,  from 
whom  he  inherited  his  title,  was  a  man  of  savage 
and  unsocial  character,  who  was  believed  to  have 
murdered  a  gentleman  in  a  quarrel.  With  him, 
however,  he  had  no  intercourse,  nor  even  with  his 
father,  who  was  soon  separated  from  his  wife ;  so 
that  he  was  wholly  abandoned  to  his  mother's  care, 
and  a  more  injudicious  guide  of  a  youth  so  wild  and 
passionate  could  not  have  been  anywhere  found. 
It  has  been  generally  thought  that  she  was  fondly 
indulgent ;  but  the  present  work  effectually  clears 
her  memory  from  any  such  imputation.  She  was  a 
woman  of  violent  temper,  and  rendered  still  more  irri 
table  by  her  husband's  treatment,  though  she  seems 
to  have  loved  him  affectionately  after  all  her  wrongs. 
If  to  leave  her  child  ungoverned  was  indulgence, 
she  was  guilty ;  but  it  could  not  be  expected,  that, 
having  no  rule  over  her  own  spirit,  she  should  be 
equal  to  the  harder  duty  of  governing  her  son.  Ne 
glect,  however,  was  not  the  worst  offence  for  which 
she  is  answerable  :  she  wras  the  author  of  that  bitter 
ness  of  spirit  which  made  him,  though  at  some  times 
mild  and  affectionate,  at  others  so  sullen  and  fero 
cious  ;  for  it  seems  that  she  forgot  herself  so  far  as 
to  taunt  him  with  that  slight  lameness  which  caused 
him  so  much  misery  in  his  after-years.  Little  do 
they  know  of  human  nature  who  wonder  at  his  feel 
ing.  The  truth  is,  that,  in  almost  any  young  person, 
such  vulgar  allusions  to  a  personal  defect,  hoAvever 
trifling,  will  awaken  an  excessive  sensibility  amount 
ing  to  horror :  all  the  self-torturing  energy  of  the 


BYRON.  41 

soul  will  be  concentrated  on  that  single  point ;  and, 
if  the  wound  ever  heals  in  the  coldness  of  manhood 
or  age,  it  leaves  a  quick  and  burning  scar.  Thi^ 
disease  of  the  affections  extended  throughout  his 
mind  and  heart ;  and  to  this  we  are  bound  to  attrib 
ute  that  jealousy  which  occasionally  seemed  like 
madness,  and  that  unsparing  resentment  of  injury 
which  sometimes  raged  like  a  flame  of  fire.  Know 
ing  this,  we  cannot  wonder  that  he  regarded  his 
mother  without  affection,  alone  as  they  were  in  the 
world.  At  the  same  time,  he  discovers  in  his  letters 
a  respect  and  attention  which  clear  him  from  all 
reproach  on  this  subject :  she  could  expect  nothing 
more  of  him  ;  for  love  is  the  price  of  love.  Neither 
were  the  defects  of  his  domestic  education  repaired 
by  schools.  His  mother's  poverty  prevented  her 
doing  him  justice  in  this  respect ;  and  he  was  passed 
from  hand  to  hand,  with  a  view  to  save  expense, 
rather  than  give  instruction.  None  of  his  various 
masters  had  time  to  become  acquainted  with  his 
mind ;  and,  without  such  an  acquaintance  with  the 
tastes  and  powers  of  the  young,  teachers  are  often 
like  unskilful  gardeners,  who  destroy,  by  watering 
in  the  sunshine,  those  blossoms  whose  habit  is  to 
close  in  preparation  for  a  shower.  None  of  them 
retained  their  charge  long  enough  to  gain  an  influ 
ence  over  him.  Altogether  he  had  none  to  lean 
upon,  and  no  worthy  object  for  his  affections  to  cling 
to,  which  is  one  of  the  greatest  wants  of  the  young 
and  tender  heart.  This  sufficiently  accounts  for 
many  of  his  faults ;  it  explains  where  his  careless 
desolation  began ;  it  shows  why  he  placed  so  little 


42  BYRON. 

confidence  in  the  merit  and  affection  of  others,  why 
he  was  so  unbelieving  in  their  virtue,  and  afterwards 
so  indifferent  to  his  own.  It  accounts  for  that  mis 
anthropy  which  some  suppose  was  affected,  but 
which  there  is  every  reason  to  suppose  was  sincere  ; 
for,  much  as  he  depended  on  others,  ardently  as  he 
thirsted  for  their  applause,  still,  like  all  others  who 
have  no  faith  in  human  virtue,  he  held  them  in  light 
esteem.  Those  who  cannot  live  without  the  world's 
flattery  sometimes  despise  the  incense-bearers ;  and 
the  person  who  depends  least  upon  others  is  not  the 
misanthrope,  but  he  who  takes  a  manly  and  gener 
ous  interest  in  all  around  him.  Thus  melancholy 
and  disheartening  was  his  childhood.  Instead  of 
being  the  gallant  bark  that  Gray  describes,  standing 
bravely  out  to  the  summer  sea,  it  was  the  one  "  built 
in  the  eclipse  and  rigged  with  curses  dark,"  whose 
destiny  was  foreseen  by  the  thoughtful  before  it  left 
the  shore. 

It  may  be  said,  that  he  might  have  done  like  many 
others  whose  parents  have  been  unfaithful,  and  who, 
by  this  misfortune,  have  been  driven  to  that  self- 
education  which  Gibbon  considers  more  important 
than  any  other.  But  Lord  Byron  was  most  unfavor 
ably  situated  :  this  self-discipline  is  seldom  enforced 
\vith  vigor  or  success  without  the  pressure  of  circum 
stances,  or  the  strong  leaning  of  ambition  combining 
with  a  sense  of  duty.  But  Byron  was  above  the 
reach  of  that  necessity  which  drives  so  many  to  great 
and  fortunate  exertions.  Though  poor  in  childhood, 
when  his  wants  were  feAv,  he  had  before  him  what 
seemed  a  prospect  of  unbounded  wealth ;  and  the 


BYRON.  -io 

same  expectation  of  rank  and  honor  made  him  in 
sensible  to  the  call  of  intellectual  glory.  He  knew 
that  his  title  would  secure  him  respect,  and  in  this 
confidence  was  unambitious  of  any  thing  higher :  it 
seemed  to  be  the  brightest  point  in  all  his  visions  of 
future  greatness.  Those  who,  born  in  humble  life, 
feel  the  stirrings  of  ambition,  and  have  no  path  to 
eminence  open  but  such  as  they  clear  with  their  own 
hands,  enter  upon  the  work  with  a  vigor  which  at 
once  gives  and  strengthens  character,  and  ensures 
success.  Byron,  on  the  contrary,  believed  from  his 
childhood,  that  he  should  be  respected  for  his  rank 
alone :  it  was  not  till  he  had  reached  this  great  ob 
ject  of  desire,  and  found  how  barren  it  was,  that  he 
seemed  to  wish  or  hope  for  any  other  distinction. 

The  effect  of  this  want  of  education  in  mind  and 
character  may  be  seen  in  almost  every  part  of  his 
life,  even  in  those  illuminated  pages  which  display 
the  triumphs  of  his  genius.  He  never  seems  to  have 
had  the  least  confidence  in  his  own  taste  or  judg 
ment,  with  respect  to  his  own  productions  or  those 
of  others.  We  find  him,  on  his  return  from  his  first 
voyage,  talking  Avith  delight  of  an  imitation  of  Hor 
ace,  which  his  biographer  is  too  conscientious  to 
praise  ;  and,  at  the  same  time,  hardly  prevailed  upon, 
by  the  most  earnest  entreaty,  to  publish  "  Childe  Har 
old,"  the  work  on  which  his  fame  is  built.  A  taste  of 
this  kind  is  as  much  formed  by  society  as  by  reading 
and  meditation ;  but  he  had  acquired  a  bashful  re 
serve  in  his  childhood,  which  prevented  his  reading 
the  eyes  or  minds  of  others ;  and  yet,  as  the  public 
opinion  is  the  tribunal  to  which  all  must  bow,  he 


44  BY  RON. 

never  felt  confidence  in  his  opinions,  till  they  were 
confirmed  by  the  general  voice.  In  his  judgment  of 
others,  he  seemed  governed  by  the  partiality  of  the 
moment.  We  find  him  speaking  with  delight  of 
Coleridge's  "  Christabel,"  or  praising  Leigh  Hunt's 
affectations,  which  he  was  the  first  to  ridicule  shortly 
after.  The  same  Avavering  appears  in  his  judgment 
of  the  "  English  Bards  and  Scotch  Reviewers,"  — 
a  work  which  he  afterwards  recanted,  for  no  other 
reason  than  that  his  humor  had  altered.  The  entire 
history  of  this  work  of  wholesale  vengeance  illustrates 
the  indecision  of  his  mind.  In  his  first  indignation 
at  an  attack  which  was  certainly  enough  to  irritate  a 
meeker  spirit,  he  forthwith  drew  his  sword,  and  com 
menced  an  indiscriminate  slaughter  of  all  about  him  ; 
but,  as  soon  as  the  moment's  madness  had  passed 
away,  he  began  to  bind  up  their  wounds,  at  the  same 
time  exulting  that  he  had  made  them  feel  his  power. 
But  the  want  of  every  thing  like  discipline  was  more 
plainly  manifested  in  his  character ;  it  was  left  to 
itself;  so  far  as  he  ever  had  a  character,  it  was 
formed  by  the  natural  and  wild  growth  of  his  feel 
ings  and  passions.  These  feelings  and  passions  were 
suffered  to  grow  and  take  their  own  direction,  with 
out  the  least  care  or  control  from  any  hand.  What 
affectionate  instruction  might  have  done,  we  do  not 
know  ;  the  experiment  Avas  never  tried  :  he  Avas  left 
to  his  own  guidance ;  and,  by  feeding  on  extrava 
gant  hopes,  he  prepared  himself  to  be  hurt  and  dis 
appointed  by  the  ordinary  changes  of  life.  Never 
having  been  taught  what  to  expect  and  what  he 
might  reasonably  demand  from  others,  he  receiA'ed 


BYRON.  4'5 

every  slight  neglect  as  an  injury,  put  the  worst  con 
struction  on  every  word  and  deed,  and  required  of 
the  world  what  it  never  gave  to  any  mortal  man.  In 
Scotland,  his  fancy  was  excited  with  tales  and  ex 
amples  of  high  ancestral  pride.  Rank  became,  in 
his  eyes,  something  sacred  and  commanding  ;  and 
there  was  enough  in  the  history  of  the  Byrons  to 
encourage  his  loftiness  of  feeling.  But  he  was  morti 
fied,  as  he  came  forward  into  life,  to  find  that  the 
respect  paid  to  it  was  hollow  and  unmeaning.  He 
was  received  into  the  House  of  Lords  with  as  little 
ceremony  as  at  Eton  or  Harrow ;  and  this,  though 
probably  a  thing  of  course,  was  resented  by  him  as 
an  unexampled  wrong,  for  which  he  insulted  the 
Lord  Chancellor  at  the  time,  and  afterwards  impaled 
Lord  Carlisle  in  various  satirical  lines  ;  though  the 
only  crime  of  the  former  was,  that  he  did  not  dis 
pense  with  legal  forms  in  his  favor,  and  Lord  Car 
lisle's  transgression,  that  he  did  not  come  at  a  call, 
He  was  still  more  painfully  taught  how  little  could 
be  claimed  on  the  score  of  rank,  by  the  attack  of  the 
"  Edinburgh  RevieAv."  He  could  not  plead  privi 
lege  before  that  bar ;  a  republican  from  the  United 
States  could  not  have  been  treated  with  less  cere 
mony  than  the  English  baron  ;  and  it  appeared  in 
evidence,  that,  with  a  regard  for  principle,  of  which 
that  work  has  given  more  than  one  example,  it 
abused  the  poetry  for  the  sake  of  the  man,  though 
his  rank  was  all  the  provocation.  He  was  also  con 
stantly  wounded  in  another  tender  point,  —  his  friend 
ship.  With  him  friendship  was  a  passion,  cherished 
for  reasons  which  he  would  have  found  it  hard  to 


46  BYRON. 

assign ;  in  its  objects,  there  was  no  particular  merit, 
save  what  Avas  generously  given  them  by  his  active 
imagination.  His  little  foot-page  and  his  Athenian 
protege  Avere  of  this  description  ;  yet  he  expected  of 
these  and  others,  selected  with  even  less  discretion, 
all  the  delicacy  and  ardor  of  attachment  which  might 
belong  to  superior  natures.  He  was,  of  course,  dis 
appointed  ;  and,  by  a  process  of  abstraction,  found 
sufficient  reasons  to  libel  and  detest  mankind.  Thus 
in  almost  every  year  some  favorite  charm  was 
broken,  some  vision  dispelled ;  he  came  forward  into 
life,  like  one  seeing  from  afar  the  family  mansion  of 
his  race,  with  its  Avindows  kindled  by  the  setting 
sun,  and  Avho,  as  he  approached  it,  looking  for  life 
and  hospitality  Avithin,  found  Avith  dismay,  as  he 
entered  the  gate,  that  all  A\7as  dark,  cold,  and  de 
serted. 

Byron's  melancholy  seems  to  have  been  OAving  to 
these  peculiar  circumstances  of  his  life.  Bright  hopes 
and  painful  disappointments  folloAved  each  other  in 
rapid  succession ;  the  disappointment  being  that  which 
attends  the  gratified  desire,  of  all  others  the  most 
difficult  to  bear.  He  \vas  his  OAVII  master,  and  had 
all  that  men  commonly  wish  for ;  he  Avas  thus  in  a 
condition  Avhere,  so  far  as  resources  of  happiness 
Avere  concerned,  he  had  nothing  more  to  hope  from 
the  world,  and  that  state  in  Avhich  any  change  must 
be  for  the  worse  is  found  by  experience  to  be  more 
intolerable  than  that  in  which  any  change  must  be 
for  the  better.  How  far  his  depression  was  owing 
to  any  thing  constitutional,  we  cannot  attempt  to 
say,  being  less  acquainted  with  the  nerves  of  poets 


BYRON.  47 

than  with  those  of  reviewers ;  but  we  believe  that 
there  are  few  cases  in  which  the  evil  spirit  may  not 
be  successfully  resisted  by  a  resolute  will.  Unfor 
tunately,  those  unused  to  trouble,  real  or  imaginary, 
become  desperate  at  once,  and  are  ready  to  make 
trial  of  any  remedy  to  drive  the  moment's  uneasi 
ness  away.  By  dissipation  and  violent  excitement, 
they  remove  its  pressure  for  a  time  ;  but,  as  often  as 
it  is  lifted,  it  returns  with  heavier  weight ;  and,  at 
last,  like  the  cottager  who  burns  the  thatch  and 
rafters  of  his  cabin  to  relieve  the  cold  of  a  winter 
day,  they  are  left  without  the  least  chance  of  shelter. 
To  supply  the  vacancy  of  hope,  they  consume  the 
materials  of  happiness  at  once,  and  then  travel  from 
desolation  to  desolation,  having  no  resource  left,  but 
to  become  miserable  self-destroyers  of  their  own 
peace,  character,  and  not  unfrequently  lives. 

We  regret  to  find  the  vulgar  impression,  that  this 
melancholy  was  owing  to  his  poetical  talent,  counte 
nanced  by  such  authority  as  Mr.  Moore's :  though 
he  does  not  openly  declare  that  such  is  his  opinion, 
he  intimates  that  faults  and  sorrows  both  were  owing 
to  "  the  restless  fire  of  genius."  This  Ave  believe  to 
be  one  of  the  worst  heresies  in  public  opinion : 
beside  being  dangerous  and  misleading,  it  is  unjust 
to  the  noblest  of  all  arts.  Were  there  no  other 
young  men  of  rank  and  fortune  equally  dissipated 
with  Lord  Byron,  or  did  all  the  companions  of  his 
vice  and  folly  share  his  exalted  power  ?  Why  need 
we  assign  more  refined  causes  for  his  corruption 
than  for  theirs  ?  And,  more  than  all,  why  offer  this 
immunity  to  those  who  waste  the  talent  which  was 


48  BYRON. 

given  to  bless  the  world,  which  we  deny  to  the  infe 
rior  prodigals  of  wealth  and  time  ?  It  is  unquestion 
ably  true,  that  a  quick  imagination  gives  a  sharper 
edge  to  sorrow,  by  multiplying,  changing,  and  color 
ing  its  images  ;  but  it  has  equal  power  over  images 
of  joy,  if  the  poet  can  be  made  to  look  upon  the 
bright  side  ;  and,  as  this  depends  on  his  own  choice, 
we  cannot  sympathize  with  him  very  deeply  if  he 
insist  on  being  unhappy  ;  we  will  not  throw  the 
blame,  which  belongs  to  himself,  either  on  poetry  or 
nature.  It  is  time  that  justice  in  this  respect  were 
done  to  poetry.  It  is  a  full  fountain  of  consolation. 
So  far  from  being  a  Marah  in  the  wilderness  of  life, 
there  is  healing  in  its  waters.  The  greatest  masters 
of  the  lyre  have  found  delight  in  the  calm  and  ma 
jestic  exertion  of  all  their  powers;  and,  while  poetry 
doubles  their  happiness  by  its  inspirations,  it  has  been 
found  effectual,  from  the  days  of  Saul  till  the  present, 
to  drive  dark  thoughts  from  the  soul.  No  man  was 
ever  more  indebted  to  poetry  than  Lord  Byron ; 
we  say  nothing  of  his  reputation,  though,  without 
poetry,  he  would  have  left  no  more  name  than  a 
thousand  other  lords  ;  but  we  consider  him  indebted 
to  poetry  for  all  the  bright  hours  that  silvered  his 
path  of  life.  That  he  was  a  miserable  man,  no  one 
can  doubt,  who  knows  any  thing  of  the  effect  of  dis 
tempered  fancy  and  ungovernable  passions :  but, 
while  he  was  wildly  sacrificing,  one  after  another,  the 
resources  for  happiness  which  surrounded  him,  and 
seemed  to  take  an  insane  pleasure  in  seeing  those 
treasures  melted  down  in  the  fires  of  passion  ;  while 
he  was  surrounded  by  associates  who  were  enough 


BYRON.  49 

to  put  to  flight  all  those  better  feelings  which  could 
not  quite  forsake  him,  even  when  he  seemed  most 
resolute  to  let  them  go ;  while,  in  self-inflicted  ban 
ishment,  his  face  was  always  turned  toward  his 
country,  although  he  spoke  of  it  with  hatred  and 
scorn ;  while  his  wild,  fierce,  and  riotous  mirth  only 
manifested  the  self-condemnation  and  torture  within, 
he  was  indebted  to  poetry  for  fanning  the  embers 
of  his  better  nature,  for  kindling  up  those  flashes  of 
manly  and  generous  emotion,  which,  transient  and 
wavering  though  they  were,  have  been  enough  to 
secure  for  him  the  admiring  compassion  of  the 
world.  Nothing  can  extinguish  this  sacred  light  of 
the  soul ;  it  is  an  immortal  element,  which  floods 
cannot  drown ;  it  often  revealed  to  him  the  true 
character  of  his  companions,  and  his  own  conduct, 
making  him  heart-sick  of  the  scenes  in  which  his  life 
was  wasted,  and  the  associates  among  whom  he  was 
thrown  ;  it  led  him  to  all  the  excellence  which  he  ever 
knew  ;  and  when,  weary  of  degradation,  he  made 
one  last  effort,  with  his  foot  on  the  native  soil  of 
inspiration,  to  rise  to  his  proper  place  among  the 
sons  of  light,  it  was  evidently  owing  to  poetry  that 
any  thing  worthy  to  redeem  was  yet  existing  in  his 
soul. 

Equal  injustice  is  done  to  poetry,  by  saying,  as  is 
often  said  in  the  case  of  Byron,  that  misery  is  the 
parent  of  its  inspirations.  Poetry  is  the  work,  not 
of  circumstances,  but  of  mind,  —  of  disciplined  and 
powerful  mind ;  which,  so  far  from  being  the  sport 
of  circumstances,  makes  them  bend  to  its  power. 
There  is  neither  romance  nor  elegance  in  real  dis- 


50  BYRON. 

Iress  ;  it  is  too  real,  oppressive,  and  disheartening  ; 
the  mind,  so  far  from  dwelling  upon  it,  turns  away 
with  disgust  and  aversion.  The  person,  in  suffering 
of  body  or  mind,  no  more  thinks  of  the  fine  emotions 
his  situation  awakens,  than  the  soldier,  bleeding  on 
the  plain,  who  would  exchange  the  fame  of  Caesar 
for  a  drop  of  water  to  cool  his  burning  tongue.  It 
is  true,  that  such  a  person  often  expresses  himself  in 
poetical,  that  is,  in  strong  language ;  but  this  is  not 
poetry,  which  expresses  a  vivid  imagination  of  the 
sorrow,  rather  than  the  reality,  and  implies  a  steady 
scrutiny  of  feelings,  and  a  measuring  of  the  depth 
and  power  of  language,  to  which  real  suffering  is  a 
stranger.  The  whole  advantage  which  a  poet  de 
rives  from  acquaintance  with  grief  is  the  same  he 
might  borrow  from  being  present  in  a  storm  at  sea : 
he  could  no  more  describe  his  emotions  at  the  mo 
ment  when  every  nerve  is  strained  and  wrung  with 
grief,  than  he  could  sit  down  to  paint  the  sublimity 
of  the  tempest  when  the  vessel  lets  in  water  at  every 
seam.  Afterwards  he  may  remember  the  circum 
stances,  and  recall  the  feelings  ;  and,  if  he  do  it  with 
judgment  and  selection,  may  affect  the  minds  of  his 
readers  with  impressions  similar  to  his  own.  But 
he  cannot  do  this  till  the  fear  and  anguish  are  gone, 
or,  at  least,  till  he  finds  a  consolation  in  the  exercise 
of  his  mind,  which  makes  him  forget  his  sorrows. 
No  stronger  confirmation  of  this  can  be  given  than 
the  lines  addressed  to  Thyrza,  which  exceed  all 
lyrical  poetry  in  the  language  for  the  deep  feeling 
which  they  express.  They  were  addressed  to  an  im 
aginary  person ;  and  the  emotions,  if  he  ever  had 


BYRON.  51 

felt  them,  were,  at  the  moment  of  writing,  dictated  by 
the  fancy  rather  than  the  heart.  While,  therefore, 
we  believe  that  Byron  was  melancholy  in  his  tem 
perament,  we  do  not  believe  that  poetry  was  either 
the  cause  or  the  effect  of  his  depression.  His  sadness 
was  owing  to  the  circumstances  of  his  life  ;  but,  whe 
ther  natural  or  accidental,  it  must  be  admitted  in 
extenuation  of  his  faults,  because,  even  if  accidental, 
it  was  formed  at  an  early  period  by  events  over  which 
he  had  but  little  control. 

Lord  Byron  never  appeared  in  so  interesting  a 
light  as  at  the  time  when  "  Childe  Harold  "  had  made 
him  the  gaze  of  every  eye.  This  was  the  happiest 
and  most  brilliant  portion  of  his  life  ;  indeed,  the  only 
portion  to  which  those  words  can  properly  be  applied. 
Beside  his  literary  pretensions,  he  had  begun  to  as 
pire  to  the  fame  of  an  orator,  and  had  already  spoken 
once  or  twice  with  promising  success.  But  all  other 
hopes  were  dimmed  by  his  poetical  triumph,  and 
seldom  has  there  broken  on  the  eye  of  man  a  scene 
of  equal  glory.  He  had  not  anticipated  this ;  he 
had  reproached  himself  with  relying  so  far  on  the 
opinion  of  his  friends  as  to  give  his  poem  to  the 
press  ;  his  success,  therefore,  was  made  more  wel 
come  by  surprise ;  and  when  we  remember,  that, 
in  addition  to  this,  he  had  the  charms  of  high  birth, 
renowned  ancestry,  and  uncommon  beauty  of  per 
son,  it  is  not  strange  that  the  public,  with  its  English 
enthusiasm,  should  have  been  transported  with  admi 
ration.  Wherever  he  went,  he  was  received  with 
rapture ;  nobility,  fashion,  even  royalty  itself,  united 
in  the  general  acclamation  ;  his  natural  shyness 


52  BYRON*. 

passed  for  the  absence  of  genius  ;  his  constraint  in 
formal  society  was  taken  for  the  coldness  of  sorrow ; 
his  brow  was  supposed  to  be  overcast  by  a  melan 
choly  imagination  ;  his  faults,  so  far  as  known,  gave 
an  air  of  romantic  wildness  to  his  character,  though 
they  were  generally  veiled  by  the  clouds  of  incense 
that  rose  from  every  side,  and  gathered  round  him. 
Those  who  had  suffered  from  his  sarcasm  laid  their 
resentment  by,  and  came  manfully  forward  to  offer 
at  once  their  forgiveness  and  applause.  Sensitive  as 
he  was  on  the  subject  of  self,  he  had  every  thing  to 
keep  him  in  a  state  of  perpetual  excitement,  delight 
ful  no  doubt  for  a  time,  but  calculated,  when  its  first 
freshness  was  over,  to  bring  more  uneasiness  than 
gratification ;  and  a  poor  preparation  for  that  hour 
when  the  sounds  of  applause  were  to  die  away,  and 
nothing  to  be  heard  but  the  murmur  of  condemna 
tion,  that  reached  him  even  across  the  deep. 

As  we  have  said,  he  appears  more  amiable  at  this 
period  of  his  life  than  at  any  other :  for  a  time,  he  is 
at  peace  with  himself  and  all  around  him.  The  ap 
pearance  of  the  "  Giaour,"  and  the  compliments  paid 
him  by  Jeffrey  on  that  occasion,  completed  his  exal 
tation.  But,  while  it  is  pleasant  to  witness  the  rejoi 
cing  of  success,  Byron's  friends,  had  they  known  his 
nature,  would  have  trusted  but  little  to  the  promise 
of  that  hour.  We  cannot  judge  of  a  dwelling  by 
its  appearance  when  illuminated  for  a  victory,  nor  of 
any  character  by  the  happiness  produced  by  circum 
stances,  for  such  happiness  cannot  last ;  and,  when 
it  goes,  it  leaves  the  heart  more  desolate  than  it  was 
before.  If  the  world's  favor  did  not  change,  it  was 


BYRON.  53 

almost  certain  that  he  himself  would  alter ;  after  living 
on  this  exciting  element  for  a  while,  it  would  naturally 
lose  its  power ;  the  fountain,  having  been  drained  in 
the  beginning,  could  not  be  filled  anew;  and,  as 
nothing  less  luxurious  would  satisfy  his  desires,  he 
must  of  course  return  to  his  old  state  of  depression, 
sinking  low  in  proportion  to  the  height  from  which 
he  fell.  Such  was  the  result.  We  soon  find  him 
making  arrangements  for  another  voyage  ;  he  seem 
ed  to  anticipate  the  time  when  the  popular  interest 
should  fail  him,  and  therefore  kept  himself  as  much 
apart  as  possible  ;  still  the  change  was  to  come  in 
the  order  of  nature,  and  it  came  first  in  him ;  he 
grew  weary  of  receiving,  sooner  than  the  world  of 
giving,  its  praise.  He  says  of  Sheridan,  "  What  a 
wreck  is  that  man  !  and  all  from  bad  pilotage ;  far 
no  one  had  ever  better  gales."  The  same  might  be 
said  of  himself  at  this  time  ;  but  the  truth  is,  that  no 
winds  are  favorable  to  those  who  are  not  made  in  a 
measure  independent  of  circumstances  by  something 
firm  within.  When  energy  at  heart  is  wanting,  it 
requires  a  miraculous  combination  of  circumstances 
to  keep  one  good,  prosperous,  or  happy. 

This  brings  us  to  Lord  Byron's  marriage  and  sepa 
ration  ;  a  piece  of  history  which  has  long  been  pub 
licly  discussed,  and  with  a  freedom  unusual  in  such 
cases.  It  was  investigated  perhaps  with  the  more 
earnestness  from  its  being  carefully  hidden  ;  but  now 
the  slight  mystery  that  hung  over  it  is  removed  by 
Mr.  Moore's  publication,  and  a  statement  from  Lady 
Byron,  which  has  followed  it,  and  which  reveals  all 
the  circumstances  that  the  public  are  likely  ever  to 

5* 


54  BYRON. 

know.  This  is  the  first  time  she  has  ever  appealed 
to  the  public  against  the  charm  of  her  husband's 
poetical  insinuations  ;  silence  was  certainly  the  more 
dignified  course,  and  no  explanation  from  her  was 
called  for  ;  the  public  feeling  in  the  circle  round  them 
was  all  on  her  side ;  and  Lord  Byron  was  visited 
with  a  sentence  of  outlawry,  which  made  him  an 
exile  ever  after.  There  was  a  stern  cry  of  indigna 
tion  against  him,  which  indicated  either  that  the 
English  fashionable  world  had  been  suddenly  con 
verted  to  rigid  morality,  or  that  his  popularity  was 
on  the  wane  ;  and  enemies  of  all  descriptions,  literary 
and  political,  took  advantage  of  the  moment  to  give 
him  a  fatal  blow.  The  history  of  the  separation,  as 
given  in  this  work,  leaves  a  charge  of  duplicity  on 
Lady  Byron,  which  she  did  wisely  to  repel.  He  says, 
that  shortly  after  the  birth  of  her  daughter  she  went 
to  visit  her  parents ;  they  parted  in  the  utmost  kind 
ness  ;  she  wrote  him  a  letter  on  the  way,  full  of  play 
fulness  and  affection  ;  and,  as  soon  as  she  arrived  at 
Kirkby  Mallory,  her  father  wrote  to  inform  Lord 
Byron  that  she  wrould  never  return.  This  was  at  a 
time  when  his  pecuniary  embarrassments  had  become 
intolerably  pressing ;  executions  had  been  repeatedly 
in  his  house ;  and  for  a  wife  to  choose  this  time  and 
manner  to  leave  her  husband  would  inspire  a  natural 
prejudice  against  her,  unless  there  were  grave  rea 
sons  to  justify  her  apparent  want  of  sincerity  and 
good  feeling. 

Lady  Byron  explains  her  conduct,  in  a  letter  writ 
ten  to  justify  her  parents  from  the  charge  of  interfer 
ing  on  this  occasion.  She  states  that  she  believed 


BVRON.  55 

her  husband  insane,  and  acted  upon  that  impression, 
both  in  leaving  him  and  in  writing  her  letter,  choos 
ing  the  tone  and  manner  least  likely  to  irritate  his 
passions.  She  states,  that,  had  she  not  considered 
him  insane,  she  could  not  have  borne  with  him  so 
long.  She  endeavored  to  obtain  a  separation  ;  but 
the  circumstances  were  not  thought  sufficient  to 
make  out  the  case  of  insanity.  We  are  not  sur 
prised  that  such  was  her  impression.  Mr.  Moore 
mentions,  that  Byron  was  in  the  habit  of  keeping 
fire-arms  in  his  carriage  and  near  his  bed.  Such 
extravagance  was  enough  to  excite  her  suspicion  of 
his  soundness  of  mind ;  and  there  was  nothing  to 
quiet  her  apprehensions  in  his  temper,  which  was 
grown  irresistible  by  long  indulgence  of  self-will :  he 
was  wholly  untaught  to  submit  to  those  mutual  con 
cessions  which  domestic  happiness  and  harmony 
require.  When  we  remember  that  his  passions, 
which  he  himself  describes  as  occasionally  savage, 
were  incensed  by  seeing  his  house  repeatedly  in  pos 
session  of  officers  of  the  law,  no  wonder  that  all 
should  have  seemed  like  madness  to  her  even  spirit 
and  uniform  feelings. 

We  do  not  know  how  any  one  acquainted  with 
the  history  of  their  attachment  could  have  antici 
pated  any  other  result.  The  first  mention  of  Lady 
Byron  is  found  in  the  "  Journal :  "  — 

"  A  very  pretty  letter  from  Armabella,  which.  I  answered. 
What  an  odd  situation  and  friendship  is  ours  !  without  one  spark 
of  love  on  either  side,  and  produced  by  circumstances  which  in 
general  lead  to  coldness  on  one  side,  and  aversion  on  the  other. 
She  is  a  very  superior  woman,  and  very  little  spoiled,  which  is 


56  BYRON. 

strange  in  an  heiress,  a  girl  of  twenty,  a  peeress  that  is  to  be  in 
her  own  right,  an  only  child,  and  a  savante,  who  has  always  had 
her  own  way.  She  is  a  poetess,  mathematician,  metaphysician, 
and  yet  very  kind,  generous,  and  gentle,  with  very  little  pre 
tension."  —  p.  331. 

Here,  it  seems,  there  was  no  love  on  either  side. 
He  says,  in  another  place,  "  A  wife  would  be  the 
salvation  of  me  ;  "  and  this  Mr.  Moore  explains  by 
his  conviction,  that  "  it  was  prudent  to  take  refuge 
in  marriage  from  those  perplexities  which  form  the 
sequel  of  all  less  regular  ties."  These  are  ominous 
words.  He  offered  himself  at  that  time  to  Miss  Mil- 
banke,  and  was  rejected  :  "  on  neither  side  was  love 
either  felt  or  professed."  "  In  the  meantime,  new 
entanglements,  in  which  his  heart  was  the  willing 
dupe  of  his  fancy  and  vanity,  came  to  engross  the 
young  poet ;  and  still,  as  the  usual  penalties  of  such 
pursuits  followed,  he  found  himself  sighing  for  the 
sober  yoke  of  wedlock,  as  some  security  against  their 
recurrence."  Such  is  his  friend's  account  of  the 
reasons  of  this  connection.  Some  time  after  this,  a 
friend  advised  him  to  marry  ;  to  which  he  assented, 
"  after  much  discussion."  He  himself  was  for  an 
other  application  to  Miss  Milbanke ;  but  his  friend 
dissuaded  him,  on  the  ground  that  she  was  learned, 
and  had  then  no  fortune.  He  at  last  agreed  that  his 
friend  should  write  a  proposal  to  another  lady :  it 
was  rejected.  "  You  see,"  said  Lord  Byron,  "  that 
Miss  Milbanke  is  to  be  the  person."  He  immediately 
wrote  to  her ;  and  his  friend,  reading  what  he  had 
written,  said,  "  This  is  really  a  very  pretty  letter :  it 
is  a  pity  it  should  not  go."  "  Then  it  shall  go,"  said 


BYRON.  57 

Lord  Byron.  It  went ;  and  the  offer  was  accepted. 
In  this  way,  the  most  important  action  of  his  life  was 
done.  He  said,  "  I  must  of  course  reform  ;"  and, 
with  this  shadow  of  a  resolution,  he  went  through 
the  ceremony  in  a  kind  of  thoughtless  heaviness, 
which  he  was  at  no  pains  to  conceal.  What  induced 
Lady  Byron  to  risk  her  happiness  in  such  an  adven 
ture,  we  cannot  tell,  unless  she  was  ambitious  of  the 
glory  of  reforming  such  a  man.  If  so,  she  did  her 
part,  by  his  own  acknowledgment. 

"  I  do  not  believe,  and  I  must  say  it,  in  the  dress  of  this  bitter 
business,  that  there  ever  was  a  better,  or  even  a  brighter,  kinder, 
more  agreeable,  or  more  amiable  being  than  Lady  B.  I  never  had, 
nor  can  have,  any  reproach  to  make  her  while  with  me." 

Such  hopes  are  invariably  disappointed :  their  only 
chance  of  success  consists  in  a  strong  hold  upon  the 
affections,  which  she  never  had  on  his.  Such  a  mar 
riage-contract,  like  the  book  of  some  ancient  prophet, 
was  written,  within  and  without,  with  lamentation, 
mourning,  and  woe. 

Mr.  Moore  is  inclined  to  attribute  all  this  to  the 
incapacity  of  men  of  genius  to  enjoy  domestic  peace. 
He  forgets  that,  in  defending  his  friend,  he  does 
injustice  to  talent,  as  well  as  to  Him  who  gave  it. 
Examples  may  be  found  among  poets  of  such  unfor 
tunate  marriages  ;  but  there  is  no  connection  of  cause 
and  effect  between  their  genius  and  their  guilt  or 
calamity,  which  ever  it  may  be.  We  do  not  believe 
a  single  word  of  his  refined  speculation  on  this  sub 
ject.  We  cannot  believe  that  poetical  inspiration, 
that  glorious  gift  of  God,  can  ever  be  a  curse  to  its 
innocent  possessor.  Like  every  thing  else,  it  may 
be  abused  ;  and  then  the  greater  the  power,  the  wider 


90  BYRON. 

will  be  the  destruction.  But  there  is  no  tendency  to 
abuse  in  its  nature.  There  is  no  need  of  giving  the 
reins  to  imagination.  Where  this  power  is  strong, 
the  judgment,  if  encouraged,  will  be  strong  in  full 
proportion,  and,  if  taught  to  do  its  office,  will  keep 
the  fancy  from  excesses  as  well  as  the  passions.  So 
far  from  giving  even  a  distaste  for  reality,  it  will  give 
a  charm  to  reality,  by  surrounding  it  writh  elevating 
associations ;  it  will  raise  its  possessor  above  the  com 
mon  level  of  life,  not  too  high  to  see  all  things  dis 
tinctly,  and  yet  so  high  that  he  can  look  over  and 
beyond  them.  Man  is  made  lord  of  all  his  passions, 
invested  with  power  over  all  the  elements  of  his 
nature.  He  may  keep  or  he  may  resign  it ;  he  may 
cast  the  crown  from  his  head ;  he  may  make  himself 
the  slave  of  those  affections  which  he  is  bound  to  go 
vern.;  but  let  him  not  libel  his  nature,  for  he  makes 
himself  weak  when  Heaven  meant  him  to  be  strong  ; 
he  sinks  himself  into  degradation  and  sorrow  where 
Providence  would  never  have  placed  him.  The  fault 
is  all  in  his  own  infirmity  of  purpose  and  will. 

We  shall  not  probably  have  another  opportunity 
of  speaking  of  Lord  Byron  ;  and  we  cannot  leave 
the  subject  without  saying  a  word  of  his  writings. 
His  name  has  now  become  historical,  and  his  works 
are  registered  in  the  treasures  of  English  poetry. 
Now,  if  ever,  they  can  be  fairly  judged.  The  enthu 
siasm  in  favor  of  the  writer  has  nearly  died  away; 
and,  as  usual  in  cases  of  re-action,  begins  to  be  suc 
ceeded  by  an  indifference  which  is  more  fatal  than 
any  other  infliction  to  a  poet's  fame.  His  works  are 
not  so  much  read  at  present  as  they  will  be  some 
years  hence,  when  what  is  obscure  and  prosaic  about 


BYRON.  59 

them  will  be  passed  by,  the  grosser  parts  dismissed 
to  oblivion,  and  that  which  is  great  and  excellent  be 
read  with  an  unmingled  pleasure,  which  his  readers 
cannot  now  enjoy. 

"  Childe  Harold"  is  his  most  important  work,  and 
on  this  and  his  lyrical  poems  his  fame  must  ultimately 
depend.  It  was  a  secret  outpouring  of  his  soul, 
deeply  colored  by  his  peculiar  genius  arid  feeling. 
It  bears  no  marks  of  that  constraint  and  adaptation 
produced  by  a  consciousness  that  the  public  eye  was 
upon  him.  The  Childe  is  a  character  sufficiently 
natural ;  and  the  feelings  embodied  in  it  by  the  poet, 
allowing  for  a  little  overstatement,  nearly  resembled 
his  own.  It  was  a  happy  imagination  to  represent 
only  the  more  striking  scenes,  such  as  would  be 
likely  to  fix  the  attention  of  an  uninterested  wanderer. 
It  affords  an  excuse  for  passing  over  what  is  unsuited 
to  poetical  description,  and  for  giving  bold  relief  to 
such  as  could  kindle  the  vacant  pilgrim's  heart  and 
eye.  All  about  the  poern,  even  its  abruptness  and 
disorder,  is  brought  into  keeping,  so  that  irregularity 
becomes  a  beauty. 

But  the  character  of  the  Childe  was  so  successful, 
and  he  was  so  much  flattered  by  its  being  taken  for 
a  likeness  of  his  own,  that,  instead  of  imagining  new, 
he  was  tempted  to  draw  it  again.  In  the  "  Giaour," 
"  Corsair,"  and  other  poems,  he  multiplies  copies  of 
this  original ;  but,  in  attempting  to  give  them  ad 
ditional  effect,  he  has  gone  beyond  the  bounds  of 
truth  and  nature.  We  can  imagine  some  good  feel 
ings  lingering  in  the  ruins  of  a  libertine's  character, 
and  reviving  when  his  heart  is  moved  to  tenderness  ; 


GO  BYRON. 

but  to  transfer  the  same  affections  to  pirates  and 
murderers  is  so  shocking  to  probability,  that  none 
but  very  young  readers  can  be  interested.  It  is  sur 
prising  that  he  should  not  have  felt,  that  to  ascribe 
habitual  good  feeling  to  such  a  character  is  quite  as 
unnatural  as  to  imagine  good  men  living  in  the 
practice  of  robbery  arid  murder.  Still  these  works 
abound  in  traits  of  great  loveliness  and  power  ;  and, 
though  they  did  not  injure  his  fame,  could  not  pre 
vent  its  natural  decline,  —  a  decline  which  must 
come  unless  every  new  effort  of  a  poet  transcend  the 
last.  It  was  an  indifference  which  he  could  not  well 
bear.  Though  he  constantly  declared  his  weariness 
of  the  world  and  the  men  of  it,  he  could  not  endure 
that  the  world  should  grow  weary  of  him. 

We  must  say  that  we  consider  some  of  his  lyrical 
poems  as  the  finest  in  the  language.  The  deep  feel 
ing  which  he  delighted  to  express  was  better  suited 
to  short  pieces  than  to  long  poems.  For,  though  in 
a  poem  such  passages  occur  at  times  with  startling 
effect,  they  give  the  humble  aspect  of  prose  to  all 
that  comes  between.  But  many  of  them  are  out  of 
the  reach  of  criticism  or  of  praise.  The  allusions 
to  lost  friends  which  close  the  two  first  cantos  of 
"  Childe  Harold  "  never  will  be  read  without  emo 
tion.  His  "  Night  before  Waterloo  "  will  make 
hearts  thrill  longer  than  the  victory,  and  his  "  Thun 
der-storm  in  the  Alps  "  will  be  remembered  as  long 
as  thunders  roll. 

We  are  bound  to  say  of  this  work,  that  the  moral 
tone  is  not  what  it  should  have  been.  Not  that  the 
writer  endeavors  to  conceal  Lord  Byron's  faults  — 


BYRON.  61 

he  tells  them  without  reserve ;  nor  that  he  flatters 
the  moral  character  of  his  subject.  So  far  as  he  had 
any  clear  conceptions  of  a  character  so  unformed, 
he  gives  them  with  great  impartiality.  But  he  speaks 
of  vices  at  times  with  a  light  and  careless  air,  as  if 
they  were  harmless  if  not  discovered.  Still  the  mo^ 
ral  effect  of  his  work  will  not  be  so  unfavorable  as 
might  be  feared ;  for,  beside  that  it  is  not  likely  to 
be  popular,  envy  is  the  very  last  feeling  which  his 
account  of  Lord  Byron  would  inspire.  Never  was 
there  a  more  striking  picture  of  a  man  splendidly 
unhappy ;  weak  in  character,  though  mighty  in  his 
powers ;  solitary  as  a  hermit,  though  born  to  rank 
and  fortune  ;  wandering  without  pleasure,  and  repos 
ing  without  rest ;  admired  by  millions,  and  loved  by 
very  few ;  able  to  move  the  spirit  of  nations,  and 
himself  like  the  great  ocean  lifted  and  broken  by 
gales  that  would  not  have  agitated  humbler  waters. 
We  freely  confess,  that  we  read  his  history  with 
compassion ;  feeling  as  if  one  who  was  never  directed 
in  the  right  way  could  hardly  be  said  to  have  wan 
dered.  But  no  such  feelings  can  deceive  us  into  an 
approbation  of  his  character  :  we  hold  him  up  as 
a  warning,  not  as  an  example.  We  might  have 
waited  for  the  conclusion  of  this  "  Life,"  but  for 
various  reasons  thought  it  better  to  notice  the  first 
volume.  There  can  be  nothing  to  make  us  regret, 
that  we  have  done  so  in  the  registry  yet  to  come. 
His  hopeless  fall  began  after  his  separation  from  his 
wife,  and  his  retreat  from  England.  We  have  fol 
lowed  him  to  the  edge  of  the  cataract,  and  have  no 
disposition  to  see  him  dash  below. 
6 


62 


AMERICAN  FOKEST-TKEES. 


Sylva  Americana.    By  D.  J.  BROWNE.    Boston,  1831. 

THE  word  Sylva  can  never  be  pronounced  without 
recalling  the  memory  of  Evelyn,  who,  retired  and  un 
ambitious  as  he  was,  has  long  been  numbered  among 
the  benefactors  of  mankind.  It  was  no  small  ser 
vice  to  recommend  the  cultivation  of  ornamental 
trees,  as  a  happy  and  elevating  employment  for  men 
of  leisure  and  fortune.  Many  a  desolate  village  has 
been  covered  with  beauty,  and  many  a  fiery  street 
of  the  city  shaded,  in  consequence  of  the  enthusiasm 
inspired  by  his  memory  and  example.  Much,  too, 
has  been  added  to  the  glory  of  the  visible  world  and 
the  sources  of  philosophical  contemplation,  by  taking 
these  lords  of  the  forest  from  their  retirement,  and 
placing  them  before  the  eye ;  for  what  nobler  object 
can  there  be  than  a  tree  which  has  battled  with  the 
storms  of  ages,  and  still  calmly  waves  from  it  the 
assault  of  the  mightiest  gales,  standing  in  lofty  inde 
pendence,  and  throwing  wide  its  protecting  arms,  as 
if  it  were  offering  shelter  and  shade  to  generations 
yet  to  come  ?  It  is  true,  there  are  many  to  whom 
they  would  have  little  value,  if  regarded  merely  as 
materials  and  suggestions  of  thought ;  but  there  are 


AMERICAN    FOREST-TREES.  63 

none  to  whom  their  usefulness  does  not  make  them 
important.  Man  must  resort  to  them  to  build  and 
furnish  his  dwelling,  and  then  solicit  their  friendly 
shield  to  defend  him  from  the  summer  sun.  In 
winter  he  must  resort  to  them  again  ;  and  they  are 
ready  to  cast  away  their  verdure  "  to  let  in  the  sun, 
and  to  light  up  his  dwelling  with  their  cheerful  fires," 
like  feudal  vassals,  willing  either  to  live  or  die  in  the 
service  of  their  chief.  Even  nations  also  are  com 
pelled  to  lean  their  mighty  arms  for  support  upon 
the  neglected  trees  of  the  wood.  The  oaks  which 
Evelyn  planted  aided  to  bear  the  thunder  of  Eng 
land  in  the  bright  chain  of  victories  which  ended  at 
Trafalgar.  It  is  consoling  to  think  how  much  can 
be  done  by  men  in  private  stations  for  the  benefit  of 
their  country  and  mankind.  They  are  apt  to  feel  as 
if  their  power  was  too  limited  to  carry  any  responsi 
bility  with  it ;  as  if  their  voice  died  away  upon  the 
air  when  they  spoke,  and  they  could  give  no  impulse 
beyond  the  reach  of  their  arm ;  and  yet  here  is  an 
example  of  a  man  of  private  station  and  moderate 
fortune,  who  lived  two  centuries  ago,  and  who  is 
still  successfully  exhorting  men  to  make  themselves 
useful  and  happy  in  the  way  which  he  recommends, 
so  that  his  advice  and  example  are  still  forming 
characters,  inspiring  labors,  and  securing  services  to 
mankind  which  would  otherwise  be  wholly  lost.  "We 
should  be  glad  to  know  the  name  of  the  statesman  of 
that  age,  of  any  party,  Cromwell  or  Clarendon, 
whose  influence  is  thus  felt  at  the  present  day,  either 
in  the  world  at  large,  in  his  own  country,  or  in  any 
human  breast. 


64  AMERICAN    FOREST-TREES. 

In  this  country,  the  example  of  Evelyn  is  likely  to 
do  more  in  future  than  in  his  own,  unless  some  great 
change  takes  place  in  the  internal  condition  of  Eng 
land.  We  are  told,  that,  ten  years  ago,  there  were  but 
twenty  thousand  landholders  in  England,  setting  aside 
the  clergy  and  corporations.  The  mere  tenants  at  will 
have  no  interest  or  ambition  to  plant  trees,  without 
the  hope  that  their  descendants  will  sit  under  the 
shade  ;  or,  rather,  the  reflection  that  they  have  no  spot 
of  ground  which  they  can  call  their  own  prevents 
their  taking  an  interest  in  any  kind  of  improvement. 
In  this  country  the  state  of  society  is  as  different  as 
possible  :  there  are  hardly  twenty  thousand  in  any 
territory  of  equal  extent  with  England,  who  are  not 
proprietors  of  land,  or  freeholders.  There,  the  nobil 
ity  and  gentry,  if  they  chance  to  be  men  of  taste, 
are  too  much  engrossed  with  politics  or  the  pleasures 
of  the  capital,  to  find  much  gratification  in  pursuits 
of  this  kind :  there  are  some  who  set  a  worthy  ex 
ample,  but  there  cannot  be  many  to  follow  it.  The 
success  of  Sir  Henry  Stuart,  in  Scotland,  who  con 
verted  a  barren  heath  into  a  noble  forest,  might 
strike  the  imagination  of  thousands ;  but  the  great 
proportion  of  those  who  would  be  most  desirous  to 
imitate  him  would  probably  be  those  who  were  not 
proprietors  of  land  sufficient  for  a  grave.  Owing  to 
our  different  circumstances,  we  are  confident  that 
such  writers  will  do  more  for  this  country  than  their 
own.  Our  climate  is  more  favorable  to  this  kind  of 
vegetation  ;  we  need  it  to  generate  and  preserve  mois 
ture,  and  to  shelter  us  from  our  summer  suns,  which 
burn  with  fiercer  heat ;  we  have  more  room  to  allow 


AMERICAN   FOREST-TREES.  65 

them,  and  our  forests  are  so  crowded  that  there  is 
less  temptation  to  hew  it  down  for  the  fires.  But  all 
such  considerations  are  less  effectual  than  the  pride 
which  every  man  feels  in  his  own  paternal  acre. 
Even  if  he  have  but  one,  he  desires  to  have  it  such 
as  to  attract  the  passing  stranger's  eye,  and  to  bear  a 
comparison  with  the  estate  of  his  richer  neighbor  in 
taste  and  beauty. 

We  speak  of  the  natural  tendency  to  improve 
ment  :  we  do  not  mean  to  say  that  this  taste  is  by 
any  means  universal,  even  in  this  portion  of  our 
land.  The  suggestion  of  Cicero,  that  every  man 
thinks  he  can  live  a  year,  is  true  here  as  well  as 
elsewhere.  He  is  therefore  willing  to  plant  his  field 
or  garden,  from  which  he  can  reap  the  fruit,  while 
he  feels  less  inducement  to  plant  trees  which  he  may 
never  live  to  enjoy.  We  have  inherited  little  taste 
of  this  kind  from  our  fathers.  Besides  that  their 
whole  life  was  a  warfare  with  the  forest,  and  that 
land  was  not  considered  cleared  till  it  was  bare  as 
the  sea-shore,  it  was  evidently  no  particular  object 
for  them  to  cultivate  trees  near  their  mansions,  as  a 
convenient  stalking-horse  for  the  Indian  marksman. 
Their  children,  as  a  matter  of  course,  followed  their 
example,  though  the  necessity  for  it  no  longer  ex 
isted.  Even  now,  the  pioneer  of  civilization  begins 
his  improvements,  as  he  calls  them,  by  cutting  down 
every  tree  within  gun-shot  of  his  dwelling  ;  and 
when,  at  length,  overpowered  by  the  solicitations  of 
his  wife  or  daughter,  he  reluctantly  proceeds  to  plant, 
the  result  of  his  labors  appears  in  a  few  long  leaf 
less  poles,  standing  in  solemn  uprightness  waiting 

6* 


66  AMERICAN    FOREST-TREES. 

for  the  miracle  of  Aaron's  rod.  But  it  is  sufficiently 
evident  that  a  better  taste  is  growing  among  us, 
owing  partly  to  the  exertions  of  individuals,  and 
partly  to  the  natural  tendency  of  growing  prosperity 
and  ambition.  Our  forests  offer  us  treasures,  such 
as  few  lands  can  rival,  and  none  possibly  exceed. 
We  are  told  that  in  the  United  States  there  are  one 
hundred  and  forty  species  of  forest-trees  of  the  larger 
size ;  while  in  France  there  are  but  thirty  of  the 
same  description,  of  which  eighteen  enter  into  the 
composition  of  the  forests,  and  seven  only  are  em 
ployed  in  building.  The  wild  splendor  of  our  woods 
in  autumn,  their  green  lights  and  shadows  in  spring, 
the  heavy  grandeur  of  their  evergreen  masses  with 
the  snow  above  them  in  winter,  or  the  fine  outline 
of  their  naked  arms  against  the  sky,  never  fail  to 
strike  the  most  careless  observer  of  nature.  Interest 
follows  the  first  emotions  of  surprise  ;  that  interest 
deepens  as  he  becomes  acquainted  with  the  won 
drous  revelations  which  science  opens  in  every  plant 
that  the  earth  bears,  and  his  natural  impulse  is  to 
surround  himself  with  these  noble  works  of  heaven. 
And  this  is  easily  accomplished;  for  though,  as  Eve 
lyn  says,  "  the  aspen  takes  it  ill  to  have  his  head  cut 
off,"  this  is  not  the  case  with  most  other  trees,  which 
submit  to  the  operation  with  perfect  indifference,  and, 
even  after  being  mangled  in  root,  branch,  leaf,  and 
flower,  will  flourish  and  reward  the  hand  that  trans 
plants  them.  Or,  if  his  native  trees  are  too  common 
to  be  beautiful  in  his  eyes,  he  has  only  to  send  to 
foreign  countries;  and,  as  there  are  few  trees  like 
the  home-sick  palm-tree,  which  "  will  not  quit  its 


AMERICAN   FOREST-TREES.  67 

place  of  birth,"  they  will  come,  regardless  of  the 
voyage,  and  grow  contentedly  in  a  climate  very  dif 
ferent  from  their  own.  This  interest,  so  easily  satis 
fied,  when  once  awakened  is  not  likely  to  decline ; 
and  this  labor  is  suited  to  prevail  extensively,  be 
cause,  like  virtue,  it  is  its  own  direct,  immediate,  and 
sufficient  reward. 

But,  apart  from  the  interest  which  an  employment 
of  this  kind  easily  and  naturally  awakens,  these 
objects  acquire  a  strong  hold  on  the  affections :  man 
learns  to  love  his  contemporary  trees.  We  have 
often  thought  that  the  mysterious  feeling  awakened 
in  the  Swiss  soldiers  by  hearing  the  Ranz  des 
Vaches  was  owing  to  the  distinctness  with  which 
the  strong  features  of  their  native  scenery  were 
impressed  upon  their  minds  :  the  frowning  rock,  the 
dashing  river,  the  cloudy  ridge,  were  clear  and  visible 
forms  in  their  memory ;  and  the  breath  of  a  song  was 
sufficient  to  touch  the  delicate  spring,  and  make  the 
whole  vision  start  up  into  their  souls.  In  the  same 
way,  the  memory  of  the  absent  fastens  itself  to  the 
tree  which  shaded  his  father's  door,  which  still  retains 
all  its  greenness  in  his  imagination ;  though  the  chil 
dren  who  once  played  in  careless  happiness  beneath 
it  have  long  since  been  separated,  both  in  place  and 
heart,  and  the  aged  man  who  sat  in  his  arm-chair, 
looking  thoughtfully  upon  them,  has  long  ago  rested 
in  the  grave.  We  may  anywhere  observe,  that 
natives  of  places  which  have  any  remarkable  objects 
of  this  kind  feel  a  stronger  local  attachment,  more 
pleasure  and  pride  in  their  home,  and  far  more  inter 
est  in  public  improvement,  than  those  who  have  no 


68 


AMERICAN    FOREST-TREES. 


such  landmarks  for  the  memory :  for  example,  the 
elm  on  the  common  of  our  city,  which  is  said  to  have 
been  carried  there  on  a  man's  shoulders  in  1721,  is 
now  not  more  deeply  covered  with  foliage  than  with 
venerable  and  pleasing  associations. 

The  fact  is,  that  these  must  be  the  monuments  of 
our  country.  Mrs.  Trollope,  disappointed  at  not 
meeting  with  Parisian  manners  in  our  western  steam 
boats,  looked  out  for  baronial  castles  upon  the  Alle- 
ghany  mountains,  and  was  indignant  to  find  that  no 
such  vestiges  of  civilization  appeared.  Doubtless  we 
should  rejoice  to  have  them ;  but,  since  the  privilege 
is  denied  us,  we  do  as  well  as  we  can  without  them. 
But  this  defect,  great  and  serious  as  we  confess  it  is, 
cannot  reasonably  be  charged  upon  popular  institu 
tions  ;  and  the  pious  thankfulness  which  she  expresses 
at  being  delivered  from  republicanism  is  like  that  of 
a  soldier  in  our  late  war,  who,  when  shot  through 
his  high  military  cap,  remarked  that  he  was  devoutly 
grateful  that  he  had  not  a  low-crowned  hat  on,  as  in 
that  case  the  ball  would  have  gone  directly  through 
his  head.  These  things  are  evidently  chargeable  to 
circumstances  over  which  we  have  no  control.  And 
yet,  had  we  such  ornaments  on  every  height,  we 
fear  that  too  many  Avho  regard  comfort  more  than 
taste  would  remark,  like  her  countryman  at  Eome, 
that  "  the  ruins  were  much  in  need  of  repair."  But 
we  must  endeavor  to  prepare  ourselves  against  the 
coming  of  all  future  Trollopes,  by  providing  such 
monuments  as  our  forlorn  condition  admits,  not  such 
as  the  elements  of  nature  waste,  but  such  as  they 
strengthen  and  restore.  Almost  all  other  monuments 


AMERICAN    FOREST-TREES.  69 

leave  us  in  doubt  whether  to  regard  them  as  memo 
rials  of  glory  or  of  shame.  The  Chinese  wall  is  a 
monument  of  the  cowardice  and  weakness  of  those 
who  raised  it :  they  built  walls,  because  they  wanted 
hearts,  to  defend  their  country.  The  Pyramids  of 
Egypt  are  monuments  certainly  of  the  ignorance, 
and  most  probably  of  the  superstition,  of  their  build 
ers  ;  the  cathedrals  are  monuments  of  a  corrupt  reli 
gion  ;  and  the  same  baronial  castles,  the  want  of 
which  we  never  deplored  till  now,  are  monuments 
of  a  state  of  society  in  which  every  thing  was  bar 
barous,  and  are  witnesses,  by  their  still  existing,  that 
the  art  of  war,  the  only  science  thought  worth  regard 
ing,  was  but  wretchedly  understood.  To  us  it  seems 
that  Chaucer's  oak  and  Shakspeare's  mulberry-tree, 
the  oak  of  Alfred  at  Oxford,  and  the  one  in  Torwood 
Forest,  under  which  Wallace  first  gathered  his  fol 
lowers  in  arms,  are  as  worthy  and  enduring  memo 
rials  of  great  names'  and  deeds  as  any  that  can 
be  hewn  from  the  rock,  and  built  by  the  hands  of 
men.  The  tower,  as  soon  as  it  is  completed,  begins 
to  decay ;  the  tree,  from  the  moment  when  it  is 
planted,  grows  firmer  and  stronger  for  many  an  age 
to  come. 

We  are  the  more  earnest  to  recommend  this  cul 
tivation  to  our  readers,  because  in  this  country  it  can 
seldom  be  more  than  an  incidental  employment : 
there  are  few  so  situated  as  to  be  able  to  make  it  the 
great  business  of  their  lives.  We  are  often  told  that 
this  was  the  employment  of  man  in  paradise  :  it  was 
so ;  but  those  who  say  it  should  remember,  that  the 
air  of  paradise  did  not  prove  favorable  to  moral 


70  AMERICAN    FOREST-TREES. 

energy  and  virtue  :  it  was  made  clear,  in  the  case  of 
our  first  parents,  that  a  state  of  peaceful  enjoyment 
and  unmixed  prosperity  will  never  answer  for  man. 
He  must  have  labor  of  body  and  mind ;  he  must 
have  duties  and  trials  ;  he  must  associate  with  his  fel 
lows,  in  the  race  with  the  swift,  and  the  battle  with 
the  strong  ;  he  must  have  his  powers  unfolded  in  the 
broad  sunshine  of  social  life,  and  his  feelings  discip 
lined  by  those  disappointments  and  sorrows  which 
abound  in  the  places  where  man  contends  with  man, 
before  he  can  ever  become  that  useful,  happy,  and 
glorious  being  which  our  religion  tends  to  form.  We 
do  not  recommend  this  cultivation,  therefore,  as  an 
epicurean  indulgence,  but  rather  as  the  employment 
of  hours  which  would  be  otherwise  lost.  When 
Dumbiedikes  charged  his  son  "  to  be  aye  sticking  in 
a  tree  when  ye  have  naething  else  to  do,"  he  proba 
bly,  considering  the  habits  of  his  son  and  heir,  thought 
it  equivalent  to  a  charge  to  make  it  the  business  of 
his  life.  We  would  give  the  same  advice  to  our 
readers ;  understanding,  however,  that  they  have 
other  employments,  like  Evelyn,  who,  though  in  a 
private  station,  was  one  of  the  most  active  and  use 
ful  men  of  his  day. 

We  would  not  say,  that  this  cultivation  is  more 
important  than  that  of  fruit-trees;  but  they  carry 
their  own  recommendation  Avilh  them :  the  most 
unrelenting  destroyers  of  forest-trees  spare  the  others, 
because  they  can  be  of  service  only  when  living,  and 
are  of  no  value  in  the  market  when  dead.  The  vir 
tues  of  the  trees  of  the  forest  are  not  felt  by  all, 
though  they  are  open  to  every  eye.  The  cultivation 


AMERICAN   F.OREST-TREES.  71 

of  fruit-trees  is  left  to  the  care  of  men,  because  they 
have  an  inducement  to  engage  in  it  which  can  be 
universally  understood.     Their  seeds  are  generally 
such  as  the  peach-stone  or  the  apple-seed,  which  can 
not  spread  without  human  care ;   they  are  meant  to 
be  gathered,  and  not  to  vegetate  beneath  the  tree  on 
which  they  grew ;  while  the  trees  of  the  forest,  which 
would  be  less  likely  to  find  friendly  hands  to  render 
them  this  service,  are  provided  for  by  the  parental 
care  of  nature  ;  their  seeds  are  light,  easily  dislodged 
from  the  tree,  in  some  instances  provided  with  wings 
to  bear  them  away  on  the  winds  of  heaven,  where 
they  can  be  arrested  in  their  flight,  borne  doAvn  to 
the  earth,  and  beaten  into  the  ground  by  the  sum 
mer  shower.     The  difference  in  their  forms  is  also 
well  worth  observing.     The  trees  which  offer  their 
fruits  to  men  are  generally  low  and  easily  climbed ; 
they  grow  with  less  towering  height  and  less  gigantic 
proportions ;    while   the   trees  of  the  forest,  which 
stoop  to  no  burdens,  rise  and  spread,  as  if  glorying 
in  their  independence  of  man.     It  may  generally  be 
observed,  also,  that  the  law  of  compensation  prevails 
in  this  and  all  other  departments  of  nature.     The 
flowers  of  the  field  are  more  beautiful  than  the  vege 
tables  of  the  garden ;  and,  in  like  manner,  the  dif 
ference  between  the  trees  of  the  forest  and  those  of 
the  garden  is  that  of  sovereigns  and  slaves.    As  much 
interest  as  could  be  expected  or  desired  is  now  taken 
in  the  cultivation  of  fruit-trees,  and  it  will  soon  be 
well    rewarded.      Evelyn    expressed   a   wish,    that 
every  man  might  be  compelled  by  law  to  set  out 
fruit-trees  on  the  borders  of  the  public  roads,  for  the 


72  AMERICAN    FOREST-TREES. 

benefit  of  the  wayfarers ;  but  there  is  much  reason 
to  doubt  whether  this  class  of  worthies  would  confine 
themselves  within  the  limits  indicated  by  the  law  of 
Moses,  reasonable  as  it  is :  "  When  thou  comest  unto 
thy  neighbor's  vineyard,  thou  mayest  eat  grapes  thy 
fill  at  pleasure,  but  thou  shall  not  put  any  in  thy  ves 
sel  ; "  or,  rather,  they  might  be  too  much  taken  up 
with  obeying  the  first  of  these  provisions  to  pay 
much  attention  to  the  last.  We  shall  be  content, 
therefore,  to  see  the  highways  fringed  with  trees 
which  will  not  lead  them  into  temptation,  and  will 
offer  a  still  more  abundant  shade. 

We  are  glad  to  see  works  offered  to  the  public, 
which  call  their  attention  to  the  subject ;  and  since 
the  great  point  is  to  excite  a  general  interest  in  it,  the 
author  judges  well,  who  calls  attention  to  the  whole 
subject,  —  to  the  physiology  as  well  as  cultivation  of 
trees.  To  study  botany  according  to  the  common 
practice  is  an  inversion  of  the  order  of  nature  ;  some 
knowledge  of  the  organization  of  plants  is  absolutely 
necessary  to  prepare  the  student  to  pursue  the  study 
with  interest  and  success ;  and  it  is  well  known  to 
those  who  have  paid  any  attention  to  the  subject, 
that  all  the  improvements  in  the  practical  depart 
ment,  in  successful  planting  and  cultivation,  have 
been  made  by  men  who  were  most  intimately  ac 
quainted  with  vegetable  physiology,  who  knew  the 
use  and  importance  of  the  various  parts  and  organs, 
the  nature  and  effects  of  soil,  climate,  and  season, 
and  various  other  circumstances  which  'require  to 
be  taken  into  view,  but  are  in  general  unknown  or 
disregarded.  Nothing  can  be  more  grotesque  and 


AMERICAN   FOREST-TREES.  73 

inhuman  than  the  common  process  of  a  husbandman 
in  transplanting  a  tree.  His  first  step  is  to  behead  it, 
which,  however  intended,  is  an  act  of  kindness  to  put 
it  out  of  its  pain  ;  he  then  deprives  it  of  the  organs  of 
respiration,  both  buds  and  leaves ;  and,  last  of  all, 
buries  the  root  with  as  much  haste  and  carelessness 
as  if  it  were  one  of  the  cholera  victims.  So  wonder 
ful  an  exploit  was  it  considered  to  preserve  the  spark 
of  life  in  a  transplanted  tree,  that,  as  some  of  our 
readers  may  remember,  a  worthy  in  this  region  many 
years  ago  became  celebrated  for  his  powers,  being 
supposed  to  have  some  gift  of  nature,  like  Sullivan 
for  horsebreaking,  or  Prince  Hohenlohe  for  healing. 
Every  tree  was  supposed  to  gain  life  and  vigor  from 
his  touch  ;  and  such  was  the  fame  of  his  success,  that 
he  was  summoned  to  all  parts  of  the  State  to  practise 
in  these  desperate  cases.  In  the  wane  of  life,  when 
the  season  of  profit  was  over,  he  revealed  his  secret 
to  a  friend ;  and  it  appeared  that  his  miraculous 
power,  in  saving  trees  from  death,  consisted  in  rescu 
ing  them  from  the  hands  of  their  murderers.  He  did 
not  suffer  the  tree  to  be  deprived  of  its  head,  so  im 
portant  a  part  of  the  system  of  all  living  things ;  he 
gave  a  decent  burial  to  the  roots,  and  secured  the 
stem  by  a  stake  from  being  shaken  by  the  winds  ; 
but,  more  than  all  the  rest,  he  was  careful  never  to 
undertake  the  important  trust  except  when  the  wind 
was  west  and  the  moon  was  new.  We  do  not  con 
sider  the  astronomical  and  meteorological  part  of  his 
prescriptions  quite  so  essential  as  he  did,  but  we 
would  recommend  an  acquaintance  with  vegetable 
physiology  as  essential  to  success.  How  little  this  is 
7 


74  AMERICAN   FOREST-TREES. 

generally  understood,  any  one  may  ascertain  by  a 
few  inquiries  of  those  whose  business  makes  them 
familiar  with  the  woods.  We  remember  once  request 
ing  an  individual  who  had  passed  his  life  among  trees, 
to  take  a  basket  and  gather  some  of  the  seeds  of  the 
elm,  for  the  purpose  of  forming  a  small  plantation. 
He  seemed  doubtful  for  some  time  whether  the 
request  was  made  in  jest  or  earnest,  and  at  last  con 
fessed  that  he  had  passed  thirty  years  of  his  life  with 
out  knowing  till  that  moment  that  the  elm  had  any 
seed. 

Beside  the  importance  of  this  study  just  alluded 
to,  it  is  a  delightful  one  even  for  those  who  have  no 
practical  acquaintance  with  trees :  it  contains  some 
of  the  most  wonderful  marks  of  design  and  prepara 
tion,  of  divine,  creative  skill,  and  seemingly  intelligent 
action,  where  there  is  no  mind  within  to  direct  it, 
which  can  be  found  in  any  part  of  nature,  eloquent 
and  ample  as  it  is  in  its  testimony  to  Him  who  made 
it.  We  shall  not  enter  into  the  comparison  between 
the  properties  of  plants  and  the  instinct  of  animals, 
our  knowledge  of  both  being  quite  too  imperfect ; 
but  to  us,  whether  from  accidental  prejudice  or  not 
we  cannot  say,  none  of  the  contrivances  of  the  ani 
mal  world  seem  so  surprising  as  the  manner  in  which 
vegetables,  confined  as  they  are  to  a  single  spot,  are 
able  to  gather  food  for  their  subsistence,  to  protect 
and  restore  themselves  from  injury,  to  prepare  for 
all  the  changes  of  season  and  climate,  and,  at  the 
same  time  to  exert  a  constant  action  for  the  benefit 
of  man,  and,  in  fact,  of  all  nature.  The  root,  for 
example,  —  nothing  can  be  more  surprising  than  the 


AMERICAN    FOREST-TREES,  75 

manner  in  which  it  forms  itself  and  spreads,  so  as  to 
give  the  tree  precisely  the  support  and  subsistence 
which  it  requires.  If  the  soil  or  season  be  dry,  it  in 
creases  its  nourishment  by  throwing  out  more  fibres. 
The  fibres  themselves  turn  and  move  in  the  direction 
where  moisture  is  most  readily  found  ;  so  that,  in  the 
well-known  instance  of  the  plane-tree  mentioned  by 
Lord  Kaimes,  the  roots  actually  descended  the  wall 
from  a  considerable  height,  in  order  to  find  sub 
sistence  in  the  ground  below,  The  fibres  continual 
ly  suck  from  the  soil,  with  their  spongy  mouths, 
water  impregnated  with  whatever  substances  the 
tree  requires ;  and,  even  after  the  stem  is  dead,  they 
continue  this  action  for  a  time,  that  the  gathered 
moisture  of  the  roots  may  accelerate  their  decay. 
The  manner  in  which  the  stem  rises  and  hardens 
itself  to  resist  the  elements  is  equally  striking.  The 
new  wood  of  the  sapling  is  compressed  by  the  new 
layer  which  covers  it  in  each  succeeding  year,  being 
thus  compelled  to  shoot  upwards,  and  at  the  same 
time  to  grow  firm  and  strong.  While  the  wood  is 
thus  formed  by  accessions  from  without,  the  bark 
increases  by  layers  from  within,  which  swell  till  it 
bursts,  and  becomes  the  rough,  external  garment  of 
the  tree.  The  new  layers  of  wood  contain  the  chan 
nels  through  which  sap  is  conveyed  to  the  leaves, 
like  blood  to  the  lungs  of  man.  The  leaves,  formed 
of  the  fibres  of  the  stem  spread  out  and  connected  by 
a  delicate  net- work  of  green,  are  filled  with  veins  and 
arteries,  through  which  the  life-blood  flows.  They 
are  formed  in  the  summer,  to  expand  in  the  follow 
ing  year ;  packed  up  in  their  buds  with  wonderful 


76  AMERICAN    FOREST-TREES. 

neatness  and  precision,  covered  with  brown  scales  to 
preserve  them  from  the  frosts  of  winter,  and,  if  need 
be,  coated  with  varnish,  which  excludes  the  air  and 
moisture  through  the  season  of  danger,  and  melts  in 
the  warm  sun  of  the  next  year's  spring,  allowing  the 
verdure  to  break  forth  at  once  and  cover  the  tree. 
The  early  sap  steals  up  the  moment  the  sweet 
influences  of  Pleiades  loose  the  bands  of  nature. 
When  this  has  opened  the  buds,  and  nourished  the 
young  leaves,  the  maturer  sap  rises,  holding  the  food 
of  the  tree  in  solution,  and  passes  directly  to  the 
leaves.  These  retain  what  they  want,  and  dismiss 
the  rest  by  evaporation,  which,  like  the  insensible 
perspiration  of  man,  is  necessary  to  the  health  of  the 
tree,  but  cannot  take  place  without  the  friendly 
action  of  the  sun.  In  the  leaves,  the  sap  is  prepared 
to  form  part  of  the  substance  of  the  tree,  and  is  then 
distributed  by  vessels  passing  principally  through  the 
bark  and  partly  through  the  latest  formation  of  wood. 
It  is  from  this  returning  sap  that  the  various  gums 
and  similar  substances  drawn  from  trees  are  secreted, 
as  tears  and  saliva  in  the  human  system  are  secreted 
from  the  blood.  The  manner  and  effect  of  respira 
tion  through  the  leaves  is  not  the  least  singular  part 
of  these  operations.  They  absorb  oxygen  from  the 
atmosphere  during  the  night,  to  combine  with 
the  carbon  in  the  sap,  and  convert  it  into  carbonic 
acid ;  the  action  of  the  light  decomposes  the  acid ; 
and,  while  the  carbon  is  deposited  in  the  returning 
sap,  the  oxygen  is  exhaled  in  the  air.  This  is  only 
returning  what  the  leaves  had  borrowed  from  the 
air :  it,  however,  would  be  sufficient  to  prevent  inju- 


AMERICAN    FOREST-TREES.  77 

dons  effects  from  vegetation,  similar  to  those  which 
animals  suffer  from  the  air  which  they  have  breathed 
in  a  confined  room  for  any  length  of  time ;  and  it 
shows  that  the  presence  of  plants,  though  injurious 
an  the  hours  of  darkness,  is  perfectly  harmless  through 
out  the  day. 

So  far  from  being  deleterious  in  its  effects,  the 
respiration  of  plants,  of  the  million  trees,  herbs,  and 
flowers,  is  actually  beneficial  to  the  air :  they  are 
constantly  purifying  the  atmosphere,  tainted  as  it  is 
with  the  breath  of  animals,  and  the  presence  of 
decay.  For  the  oxygen  they  give  to  the  air  is  not 
merely  what  they  borrowed:  they  repay  the  debt 
with  interest.  The  oxygen  which  was  drawn  from 
the  soil  in  the  sap  is  exhaled  at  the  same  time  with  the 
other.  It  is  matter  of  wonder  to  notice  the  effects 
produced  both  by  its  presence  and  departure.  When 
it  is  exhaled  in  the  sunshine,  the  carbon,  deposited 
in  the  leaf,  and  combining  its  dark  blue  with  the  yel 
low  tissue,  produces  green,  from  the  first  pale  tinge 
of  spring  to  the  rich,  deep  summer  shade ;  and  when, 
as  in  the  closing  year,  the  leaves  absorb  oxygen  by 
night,  and  lose  the  power  of  exhaling  it  by  day,  it 
destroys  the  green,  and  produces  the  wild  and  fanci 
ful  wreaths  by  which  autumn  veils  for  a  season  the 
sad  reality  of  its  decay ;  a  splendid  confusion  of  tints, 
which  is  seen  to  more  advantage  in  our  country  than 
in  any  other,  and  is  not  the  least  part  of  the  beauty 
by  which  trees  recommend  themselves  to  man. 

It  is  interesting  to  observe  the  manner  in  which 
trees,   as  the  year  declines,   prepare  themselves  to 
resist  the  cold  and  to  battle  with  the  winter  storms. 
7* 


78 


AMERICAN    FOREST-TREES. 


They  seem  like  vessels  closing  their  ports,  tightening 
their  cordage,  and  taking  in  their  sails,  when  only 
the  veteran  seaman  would  know  that  a  tempest  is 
on  the  way.  They  drop  their  leaves,  bind  close  their 
trunks,  and  suspend  their  vital  movements,  as  soon 
as  they  hear  the  first  whispers  of  the  gale.  The 
substance  of  the  tree  retains  an  even  temperature 
throughout  the  year  :  it  draws  the  sap  from  a  depth, 
where  it  is  colder  in  summer  and  warmer  in  winter 
than  the  external  soil.  The  bark,  too,  a  slow  con 
ductor  of  heat,  serves  to  retain  its  warmth  ;  and  the 
tree  seems  to  make  this  preparation,  as  if  it  knew 
that,  should  the  cold  penetrate  and  burst  its  vessels, 
it  will  surely  die.  It  gets  rid  of  its  superfluous 
moisture  as  soon  as  possible,  the  danger  of  frost 
being  increased  in  proportion  to  the  water  which  it 
contains  ;  for,  as  our  cultivators  know  from  the  sad 
experience  of  the  last  winter,  a  sudden  cold  after  a 
wet  season  is  very  apt  to  be  fatal  ;  but,  except  in 
extraordinary  times,  they  contrive  to  secure  them 
selves  so  effectually,  that  the  severest  winter  cannot 
destroy  them.  Meantime,  the  fallen  leaves,  unlike 
all  other  vegetable  decay,  seem  to  aid  in  purifying 
the  air.  Any  one  who  has  walked  through  a  forest, 
after  the  fall  of  the  leaf,  must  have  observed  the 
sharp,  peculiar  smell  of  its  decay.  In  short,  every 
thing  about  these  lords  of  the  wood  is  striking  to  a 
thoughtful  mind.  Their  graceful  and  majestic  forms 
are  pleasing  to  the  eye  ;  their  construction  and 
internal  action  excite  the  curiosity,  and  worthily  em 
ploy  the  mind  ;  they  breathe  health  and  fragrance 
upon  the  air,  and  in  many,  probably  many  yet  un- 


AMERICAN    FOREST-TREES.  79 

discovered  ways,  declare  themselves  the  friends  of 
man. 

We  will  not  dwell  further  on  particulars  of  this 
kind,  which  many  of  our  readers  already  know, 
though  they  well  deserve  attention  ;  but  we  can 
urge  men  to  do  something  for  themselves  more  suc 
cessfully,  perhaps,  if  we  show  what  is  done  for  them 
by  the  liberal  care  of  nature.  And  this  appears  in 
the  manner  in  which  the  seeds  of  trees  preserve  their 
living  principle,  and  resist  decay.  They  may  be 
transported  to  any  distance,  and  preserved  for  almost 
any  length  of  time.  This,  however,  is  not  peculiar 
to  the  seeds  of  trees :  those  of  frailer  plants  are 
equally  suited  in  this  respect  to  the  convenience  of 
man.  If  buried  too  deep  in  the  ground  for  the  heat 
to  act  upon  them,  they  do  not  vegetate  ;  but  if,  years 
after,  accident  brings  them  nearer  the  surface,  they 
are  ready  to  spring  and  grow.  This  is  often  seen  in 
gardens,  where  long-lost  plants  are  recovered  in  this 
way ;  and  fields,  where  grain  has  not  been  sown  for 
nearly  half  a  century,  have  been  covered  with  it,  in 
consequence  of  being  ploughed  deeper  than  usual. 
We  are  told  that  wheat,  taken  from  an  Egyptian 
mummy,  has  vegetated  and  is  now  growing ;  and 
even  a  bulbous  root,  which  more  resembles  a  bud 
than  a  seed,  has  grown  readily,  after  having  been 
preserved  in  a  similar  way  for  not  less  than  two 
thousand  years.  It  is  in  this  way,  undoubtedly,  that 
we  must  account  for  the  fact  which  has  been  thought 
so  difficult  to  explain,  that,  when  a  forest  is  cleared 
away  in  the  summary  manner  so  common  among  us, 
it  is  succeeded  by  an  entirely  different  growth.  The 


80  AMERICAN    FOREST'TREES. 

seeds  must  have  remained  treasured  under  the  soil, — 
a  benevolent  provision  of  nature  to  cover  the  place 
with  verdure,  as  fast  as  man  makes  it  a  desolation. 
And  the  same  kindness  appears  in  the  provision 
made  for  the  geographical  distribution  of  trees.  We 
have  already  alluded  to  the  winged  seeds,  which  any 
one  may  observe  in  the  plane-tree,  or,  in  fact,  in  most 
of  the  trees  of  the  wood.  Elevated  as  they  are,  the 
wind  acts  freely  upon  them,  and  bears  them  in  every 
direction.  Birds  also  are  the  means  of  distributing 
many  which  could  not  be  dispersed  in  the  air  :  they 
swallow  the  berries,  and  restore  the  seeds  uninjured. 
So  wide  and  rapid  is  their  flight,  that  young  grapes 
are  sometimes  found  in  the  crops  of  pigeons,  caught 
here  at  a  season  when  our  vines  are  hardly  in  leaf. 
The  trees,  often  seen  growing  where  no  human  hand 
could  have  planted  them,  are  generally  such  as  have 
been  sown  by  birds.  Tavernier  remarks,  that  birds 
from  distant  islands  swallow  the  ripe  nutmeg,  and 
throw  it  up  undigested  ;  so  that  a  tree  springs  from 
it  more  luxuriant  than  such  as  are  planted  by  human 
hands.  All  animals  bear  a  part  in  this  great  work 
of  nature.  The  Indians  believed  that  the  squirrel 
employed  his  leisure  hours  in  planting  nuts  for  the 
benefit  of  man.  Mice  are  equally  philanthropic  and 
unwearied  in  their  exertions.  It  would  be  a  shame 
to  men,  if  they  should  do  nothing  for  themselves, 
when  all  nature,  living  or  inanimate,  is  thus  engaged 
in  their  service.  Trees,  transplanted  from  one  soil 
and  climate  to  another,  require  care  undoubtedly; 
but  they  will  do  much  to  naturalize  themselves.  Men, 
certainly,  have  done  something ;  and,  wherever  they 


AMERICAN    FOREST-TREES.  81 

have  exerted  themselves,  have  been  rewarded  with 
perfect  success.  Though  Providence  has  given  to 
every  region  the  vegetation  most  essential  to  its 
wants,  a  great  proportion  has  been  added  to  every 
civilized  country  by  human  care.  Csesar  is  said  to 
have  brought  the  chestnut  from  Sardis  into  Europe, — 
an  act  by  which  he  rendered  more  service  to  man 
kind  than  by  all  his  battles  and  victories.  Many  of 
the  finest  of  our  ornamental  trees  were  originally 
imported ;  as,  for  example,  the  Chinese  Ailanthus, 
which  endures  our  severest  winters  without  protec 
tion.  But,  so  long  as  the  treasures  of  our  own 
forests  are  neglected,  we  would  not  recommend  to 
our  readers  to  go  abroad  for  that  variety  which  they 
can  easily  find  at  home.  They  can  follow  the  ex 
ample  of  the  old  British  planters,  and  search  out  the 
virtues  of  what  they  already  possess.  "  The  lop 
pings  and  leaves  of  the  elm,"  says  one  of  them, 
"  when  dried  in  the  sun,  are  preferred  to  oats  by 
cattle."  "  Beech  leaves,  gathered  about  the  fall, 
before  they  are  much  frost-bitten,  afford  the  best  and 
easiest  mattresses  in  the  world."  "  The  keys  of  the 
ash,  when  young  and  tender,  make  a  delicate  pickle  ; 
its  bark  is  the  best  for  tanning  nets,  its  wood  for 
drying  herrings  and  for  burning  in  a  lady's  chamber." 
There  are  many  discoveries  yet  to  be  made,  by 
which  attention  may  be  rewarded. 

The  manner  in  which  the  wants  of  men  are  pro 
vided  for  is  finely  illustrated  in  this  department  of 
nature.  Every  thing  appears  when  and  where  it  is 
wanted.  Sharon  Turner  has  pointed  out  a  pleasing 
instance  of  this  in  the  "  Sacred  History  of  the  World." 


82  AMERICAN    FOREST-TREES. 

Seeds,  as  is  well  known  to  cultivators,  vegetate  best 
in  darkness ;  and,  till  this  change  is  commenced,  are 
injured,  if  not  destroyed,  by  the  presence  of  the  sun. 
Accordingly,  in  the  history  of  creation,  we  find  what 
would  generally  be  thought  an  inversion  of  the  order 
of  nature :  the  vegetation  is  said  to  have  begun  before 
the  sun  made  its  first  appearance  in  the  sky ;  that 
luminary  was  not  created  till  its  action  Avas  needed 
to  develop  the  leaves  and  flowers.  Similar  exam 
ples  of  prospective  care  may  be  found  in  our  coun 
try,  where  great  changes  are  crowded  into  narrow 
spaces  of  time.  When  civilized  man  first  came  to 
these  regions,  the  forests  were  ready  to  feed  his 
gigantic  fires ;  and  the  same  process  which  was  ne 
cessary  to  clear  the  land  for  cultivation  supplied  him 
with  comfort  for  his  miserable  dwelling,  which  could 
hardly  be  warmed  by  any  thing  less  than  a  confla 
gration.  Before  the  field  could  be  subdued,  the 
forests  abounded  with  game,  and  the  rivers  with 
fish.  But,  the  moment  these  resources  were  no 
longer  needed  for  food,  the  beasts  began  to  retire 
from  the  forests  and  the  fish  from  the  streams,  as  a 
sort  of  intimation  to  man,  that  they  supported  him 
only  so  long  as  he  could  not  live  by  his  own  ex 
ertions.  And  now,  in  the  populous  parts  of  our 
country,  where  the  hands  of  all  can  be  profitably 
employed,  and  such  resources  would  be  no  better 
than  temptations,  there  is  nothing  left  to  invite  or 
reward  any  sportsman,  save  only  the  forlorn  and 
desperate  fisherman,  who  wanders,  like  a  ghost  on 
the  banks  of  the  fabled  river  below,  exulting  in  a 
nibble,  and  beside  himself  with  joy  at  the  capture  of 


AMERICAN   FOREST-TREES.  83 

a  minnow.  But  civilization  diminishes  the  wood; 
and  then  those  who  spend  fortunes  in  the  discovery 
of  expedients  for  cheap  fuel,  —  who,  as  was  said  of 
Count  Rumford,  "  will  not  be  content  till  they  can 
cook  their  dinner  with  the  smoke  of  their  neighbor's 
chimney,"  though  they  do  not  often  benefit  them 
selves,  certainly  aid  to  prevent  ravages  and  waste 
of  the  woods.  Meantime  the  treasures  of  coal  begin 
to  come  to  light,  not  perhaps  in  every  part  of  the 
country,  but  where  they  are  within  the  reach  of  all ; 
for  the  free  communication  which  all  public  im 
provement  requires  between  all  parts  of  the  land 
demands  its  railroads  and  canals,  and  does  not  cease 
till  the  boat  or  the  car  can  lay  down  its  burden 
almost  at  every  man's  door. 

It  would  seem,  from  the  accounts  of  geologists, 
that  we  are  indebted  to  vegetation  for  a  great  pro 
portion  of  the  materials  which  are  now  generally 
used  for  fires.  Jn  the  peat-bogs  of  Scotland  and 
Ireland,  the  remains  of  large  trees  are  very  abun 
dant  :  they  must  have  originally  fallen  with  age,  and, 
by  damming  streams,  made  the  soil  unfit  to  support 
vegetation ;  so  that  whole  forests  fell,  and  were 
buried  under  gradual  accumulations  of  vegetable 
matter.  When  the  levels  of  Hatfield  Chase  were 
drained,  vast  numbers  of  trees  of  all  kinds  were  found 
buried  under  the  soil,  which  were  overthrown  proba 
bly  by  the  Romans,  in  order  to  drive  out  the  natives 
who  had  taken  shelter  in  them.  In  the  peat-mosses 
of  Scotland,  the  pines  which  have  been  buried  for 
ages,  embalmed  in  their  turpentine,  retain  their  fresh 
ness  :  similar  remains  are  found  in  various  parts  of 


84  AMERICAN   FOREST-TREES. 

England.  In  many  of  these  bogs  are  seen  the  marks 
of  successive  formations :  the  oak  is  found  in  the 
lowest  stratum ;  and  in  some  parts  of  Scotland,  where 
at  the  present  day  oaks  are  dwarfish  if  they  grow  at 
all,  they  are  found  of  very  large  dimensions.  This 
stratum  of  peat  is  said  to  be  very  little  inferior  to 
coal.  In  the  second  stratum,  there  is  a  much  greater 
variety  of  wood ;  but  birch  and  hazel  are  the  prevail 
ing  kinds.  Where  there  is  a  third  stratum,  the  prin 
cipal  portion  of  the  wood  is  alder.  Though  the  peat 
is  but  little  valued  in  this  country  where  other  fuel 
still  abounds,  there  are  regions  in  which  it  is  very 
important ;  and  we  find,  according  to  the  suggestion 
we  have  made,  that,  in  countries  where  woods  have 
been  wasted  so  that  now  they  are  almost  gone,  and 
where  the  transportation  of  coal  would  be  expensive, 
if  possible,  these  remains  of  ancient  forests  have  been 
kept  by  the  arrangement  of  Providence,  as  a  buried 
treasure,  within  the  reach  of  man's  wants,  but  safe 
from  his  devastations. 

Many  of  our  readers  know,  that  coal,  with  the 
exception  of  anthracite,  is  supposed  also  to  be  of 
vegetable  origin.  Geologists  are  not  agreed  upon 
this  subject;  but  in  some  formations  there  are  evi 
dent  remains  of  vegetable  matter,  and  some  believe 
they  can  trace  the  successive  changes  from  bitumi- 
nated  wood  to  coal.  De  Luc  believes  that  the  coal- 
formations  are  the  peat-bogs  of  the  ancient  world, 
which  had  become  inundated  with  sea- water.  The 
fossil  peat,  he  says,  differs  from  coal  only  in  not 
having  been  mineralized,  and  not  having  ferruginous 
masses  in  the  strata  above  it.  It  is  believed  that  the 


AMERICAN    FOREST-TREES.  85 

same  action  of  water  which  changed  vegetable  mat 
ter  into  peat  can,  after  considerable  time,  produce 
the  further  change  to  bitumen,  and  that  the  whole 
process  can  be  traced  from  the  vegetable  to  peat, 
peat  to  lignite,  and  lignite  to  coal.  Thus  it  appears, 
that  a  great  proportion  of  men  are  now  making  use 
of  the  remains  of  an  earlier  vegetation,  which  has 
been  preserved  for  their  benefit  by  the  unmerited 
liberality  of  nature. 

We  say  the  unmerited  liberality  of  nature,  because 
men  are  strangely  wanting  to  themselves  in  these 
respects.  It  is  natural  enough,  that  the  first  settlers 
of  a  forest-region  should  take  summary  measures  to 
clear  the  soil  for  cultivation ;  but  to  keep  up  a  wild 
waste,  both  with  axe  and  fire,  long  after  the  soil  is 
subdued,  is  not  so  natural  for  those  who  have  com 
mon  sense  to  govern  their  actions.  The  western 
hunters,  who  would  kill  the  buffalo  for  his  tongue, 
are  not  more  merciless  than  the  "  lumberers"  of 
Canada.  A  party  engaged  in  a  lumbering  expedi 
tion  provide  themselves  with  axes,  provisions,  and 
cattle,  and  proceed  to  the  spot  chosen  for  their  winter 
encampment,  which,  of  course,  is  established  where 
the  pine-timber  most  abounds.  Here  they  build 
their  log-hut  in  the  usual  extemporaneous  manner, 
with  a  hole  in  the  roof  for  a  chimney,  and  pine- 
branches  for  beds,  on  which  they  sleep  with  their 
feet  towards  the  fire.  The  person  employed  as  cook 
provides  the  breakfast  before  daylight,  if  that  name 
can  be  given  to  the  meal,  which  they  never  partake 
till  they  have  paid  their  morning  devotions  to  the 
bottle.  After  breakfast,  they  separate  into  gangs, 


00  AMERICAN    FOREST-TREES. 

• 

one  of  which  cuts  down  the  trees,  another  hews 
them,  and  the  third  conveys  them  to  the  water. 
Thus  they  are  employed  till  the  streams  are  swelled 
by  the  melted  snow  in  the  spring,  when  they  make 
the  logs  into  rafts,  and  are  compelled  to  be  so  much 
in  the  water  that  they  contract  a  determined  hostility 
to  that  element,  which  lasts  as  long  as  they  live. 
This,  however,  is  not  very  long ;  for  their  employ 
ment  is  almost  as  fatal  to  themselves  as  to  the  trees 
they  hew.  Parties  of  this  kind  are  fast  destroying 
the  best  vegetation  of  the  northern  forests  ;  but,  care 
less  as  they  are,  they  are  not  half  so  destructive  as 
the  clearing  fires.  Kindled  without  regard  to  any 
thing  beyond  the  immediate  purpose  of  clearing  a 
few  acres,  it  does  not  occur  to  the  engineer,  that  it 
may  possibly  spread  beyond  them :  he  takes  it  for 
granted,  that  the  fire,  like  the  other  agents  he  em 
ploys,  will  be  likely  to  do  less  rather  than  more  than 
he  requires.  Thus  it  often  spreads  into  a  conflagra 
tion  which  the  floods  cannot  drown,  and  the  growth 
of  centuries  sinks  in  a  day,  a  scorched  and  black 
ened  ruin. 

This  process  is  conducted  on  a  smaller  scale,  as 
the  country  advances;  not  because  men  grow  more 
thoughtful  in  regard  to  future  wants,  but  simply  be 
cause  less  is  left  to  destroy.  Even  now,  whoever 
visits  the  northern  parts  of  New  England  at  certain 
seasons  is  almost  sure  to  see  flames  climbing  the 
hill-sides,  and  long  red  lines  of  fire  reflected  in  the 
waters  by  night.  Beside  the  vast  tracts  of  forest, 
which  are  thus  perhaps  necessarily  sacrificed ;  beside 
the  immense  quantities  of  wood,  annually  built  up 


AMERICAN    FOREST-TREES.  87 

in  houses  and  vessels  and  consumed  in  fires,  ouv 
steamboats  are  every  year  increasing  in  numbers, 
and  making  vast  demands  upon  the  forests  of  the 
country.  And  yet,  though  the  remark  is  frequently 
made  that  all  this  must  have  an  end,  no  one  ever 
seems  to  feel  that  our  forests  are  not  inexhaustible. 
In  the  reign  of  Edward  I.  the  nobility  of  England, 
whose  delicate  senses  were  offended  by  the  use  of 
coal,  procured  an  order  from  the  king,  that  nothing 
but  wood  should  be  used.  Perhaps,  at  that  day, 
such  an  order  might  be  obeyed  ;  but  there  has  not 
been  a  period  since,  when  the  comfort,  prosperity, 
and  even  existence  of  England  have  not  rested  upon 
her  mineral  treasures.  The  time  must  come  when 
our  drafts  upon  the  forests  of  our  country  must  be 
dishonored,  unless  some  attention  is  paid  to  this 
neglected  subject.  Wood  must  be  used  for  various 
purposes,  which  anthracite  coal  has  not  yet  been 
found  to  answer.  If  many  tracts,  which  are  noAv 
given  to  unprofitable  cultivation,  were  allowed  to 
cover  themselves  with  this  vegetation  again,  the  hus 
bandman  might  labor  to  more  advantage  in  narrower 
bounds,  and  the  country  would  not  be  obliged  to 
give  up  an  article,  the  want  of  which  it  would  be 
extremely  difficult  to  supply. 

Some  other  countries,  which  have  begun  to  feel 
the  inconveniences  of  this  privation,  have  bestowed 
a  degree  of  attention  upon  this  subject  which  would 
seem  incomprehensible  to  many  of  our  countrymen. 
The  Germans  have  established  forest  schools,  in 
which  are  taught  all  things  relating  to  this  kind  of 
vegetation,  and  the  culture  and  management  of  forest- 


AMERICAN    FOREST-TREES. 

trees.  This  system  it  would  be  impossible  to  intro 
duce  among  us  at  present,  at  least  upon  a  similar 
scale ;  for  the  Germans,  thorough  in  every  thing, 
include  a  considerable  range  of  sciences  in  the  for 
ester's  education,  embracing  not  only  what  are  indis 
pensable,  but  all  that  can  aid  him  in  his  pursuits ; 
whereas  among  us  an  acquaintance  with  the  art  of 
wood-chopping  would  be  the  only  qualification  re 
quired  by  public  opinion.  In  France,  where  the 
forests  supply  nearly  all  their  fuel  in  the  form  of 
wood  or  charcoal,  a  very  rigid  system  of  economy  is 
enforced  by  law.  In  England,  during  the  existence 
of  the  Republic,  the  forests  were  hewn  down  without 
mercy,  and  sold  by  men  in  power  for  their  own 
advantage ;  in  France,  on  the  contrary,  during  the 
Revolution,  the  public  forests  escaped  the  fury  of 
the  storm.  In  consequence  of  their  enactments, 
and  the  strictness  with  which  they  are  observed,  it  is 
calculated  that  the  supply  will  always  equal  the 
demand.  In  England  this  matter  is  left  to  individ 
uals,  with  the  single  exception  of  securing  the  largest 
timber  for  the  navy  ;  and,  in  this  country  also,  the 
only  way  to  produce  a  change  in  this  respect  is  to 
impress  the  necessity  of  such  attention  upon  the  peo 
ple  at  large.  Our  government  has  lately  shown 
some  little  regard  to  the  preservation  of  timber.  It  is 
said  that  every  ship  of  the  line  requires  all  the  good 
wood  which  can  be  found  on  fifty  acres  of  woodland. 
As  the  ships  decay  long  before  the  forest  can  grow 
again,  and  our  navy  must  be  constantly  increasing, 
it  is  certainly  time  that  something  efficient  should  be 
done.  Our  government,  however,  is  a  mere  expres- 


AMERICAN    FOREST-TREES. 


89 


sion  of  the  popular  sentiment ;  and,  unless  some  con 
viction  of  the  necessity  of  care  should  generally  pre 
vail,  it  is  in  vain  to  expect  our  rulers  to  regard  such 
matters.  Even  if  they  should,  they  have  no  power 
to  compel :  the  individual  must  be  wrought  upon  by 
a  regard  to  the  public  good  ;  a  principle  which  acts 
but  seldom  and  sparingly,  unless  connected  with 
some  small  hope  of  personal  advantage.  There  are 
many  who  show,  though  they  do  not  avow,  the  feel 
ing  of  him  who  said,  that  he  should  think  it  time  to 
do  something  for  posterity,  when  posterity  had  done 
something  for  him. 

The  business  of  cultivating  trees,  and  supplying 
their  places  as  they  are  cut  away,  is  not  one  that  can 
be  wholly  left  to  nature  ;  for,  liberal  as  she  is,  she 
seems  sometimes  to  grow  weary  of  offering  her  boun 
ties  where  there  are  none  to  regard  them,  or  none 
who  will  regard  them.  Forest-trees,  hardy  as  they 
are  when  they  have  reached  a  considerable  height, 
are  tender  in  their  infancy,  and  require  considerable 
care.  If  such  care  is  given,  they  reward  it  liberally  ; 
but,  if  it  is  not  given,  there  are  cases  in  which  whole 
forests  have  perished,  and  left  a  wilderness  where 
they  stood.  The  earth  needs  them  to  shelter  it  from 
the  extremes  of  cold  and  heat,  to  maintain  and  trea 
sure  the  moisture,  and  to  produce  certain  changes  in 
the  air;  and,  wherever  they  perish,  the  earth  suffers 
not  only  their  loss,  but  the  loss  of  all  the  advantages 
which  they  afford  to  vegetation  of  all  other  kinds,  to 
say  nothing  of  the  loss  to  man.  The  bogs  of  Ireland, 
desolate  as  they  are  now,  were  once  covered  with 
wood  ;  and  the  same  change  has  taken  place  in  Lap- 

8* 


90  AMERICAN    FOREST-TREES. 

land  and  the  northern  islands.  In  America,  many 
vast  tracts  at  the  north,  which  are  now  desolate, 
were,  according  to  Indian  traditions,  which  there  is 
no  reason  to  doubt,  once  covered  with  gigantic  trees. 
Scotland,  in  modern  times,  has  been  noted  for  its  de 
ficiency  in  this  kind  of  verdure.  When  Dr.  Johnson 
lost  his  walking-stick,  and  was  assured  by  way  of 
consolation  that  it  would  be  found  again,  he  refused 
to  be  comforted,  thinking  that  no  doubt  it  would  be 
found,  but  that  it  was  equally  certain  he  should  not 
find  it ;  for  how  could  it  be  expected  that  any  one 
who  had  possessed  himself  of  such  a  stick  of  timber 
in  Scotland  could  restore  it  ?  It  would  imply  super 
natural  virtue ;  and  yet,  in  these  very  regions,  not 
only  the  trunks  and  roots  of  trees  are  found  in  the 
bogs,  but  the  roots  of  large  oaks,  and  even  moulder 
ing  trunks,  are  found  on  the  surface,  where  they  are 
unacquainted  with  the  living  tree.  It  is  believed, 
that  not  only  the  soil,  but  the  climate,  has  suffered  a 
serious  change  by  reason  of  this  loss.  It  probably 
was  owing  to  neglect,  which  produces  the  same 
effects  with  wanton  violence  upon  the  face  of  nature ; 
and  we  know  not  why  other  countries  may  not  suffer 
in  the  same  way,  if  they  do  not  pay  some  regard  to 
these  blessings,  which,  if  divinely  planted,  still  need 
the  care  of  man. 

The  great  proportion  of  those  who  pay  attention 
to  the  business  of  planting  in  this  country  seem  to  do 
it  mechanically,  with  the  single  object  of  collecting 
trees  in  sufficient  numbers,  and  without  regard  to  the 
circumstances  just  mentioned,  or  in  fact  to  any  prin 
ciples  of  taste.  If  the  enclosure  be  small,  it  is  bor- 


AMERICAN    FOREST-TREES.  91 

dered  by  trees  in  regular  file  and  at  equal  distances, 
arranged  with  military  precision  ;  or,  if  the  improve 
ments  are  made  in  a  wider  field  of  action,  the  trees 
are  gathered  by  a  press-gang  and  left  to  themselves, 
as  if  they  could  choose  positions  best  suited  to  their 
habits  and  natures.  Those  who  can  embrace  forests 
in  their  plans  are  few  in  number ;  and,  where  any 
conduct  their  improvements  on  this  extended  scale, 
the  woods  are  still  so  extensive  in  our  country  that 
they  are  seldom  obliged  to  resort  to  the  slow  process 
of  transplanting.  A  forest  is  a  grand  and  imposing 
object,  whether  rising  on  the  hill-side,  like  the  galle 
ries  of  an  amphitheatre,  or  resting  on  the  smooth  and 
even  plain  ;  and  reminds  us  of  the  ocean,  not  only 
by  the  hollow  sound  that  sweeps  through  its  caverns, 
but  by  the  bays  and  indentures  that  vary  the  line  of 
its  borders.  But  in  this  country  we  need  groves 
more  than  forests,  and  clumps  and  thickets  more 
than  groves ;  and  the  manner  of  arranging  these  so 
as  to  lose  the  stiffness  and  formality  of  art,  to  secure 
the  favorable  points  of  prospect,  and  to  shut  out 
whatever  might  offend  the  eye,  and  to  bring  together 
in  their  best  proportions  the  variety  of  colors  and 
forms  in  nature,  are  refinements  which  at  present 
have  excited  but  very  little  attention,  though  there  is 
hardly  an  estate  of  the  least  pretension,  in  which 
they  are  not  called  for.  Scarcely  any  one  ever  thinks 
of  what  is  called  the  composition  of  the  scene. 

As  this  branch  of  the  subject  does  not  come  within 
the  design  of  the  work  before  us,  we  shall  not  dwell 
upon  it  here.  If  a  man  desire  to  improve  the  ap 
pearance  of  his  estate,  he  naturally  wishes  to  enjoy 


92  AMERICAN    FOREST-TREES. 

the  result  of  his  labors  as  early  as  possible ;  and,  if 
his  object  be  to  improve  the  village-road  and  burial- 
place,  or  the  streets  and  squares  of  the  city,  he  will 
not  have  patience  to  plant  the  seed,  nor  will  any  trees, 
except  such  as  have  gained  considerable  strength  and 
size,  be  able  to  endure  the  rough  treatment  to  which 
they  are  necessarily  exposed  in  public  places.  But 
the  business  of  transplanting  trees  already  groAvn  is 
so  laborious,  expensive,  and  slow,  —  so  much  care 
is  required,  and  so  little  given,  without  the  constant 
presence  of  a  superintending  eye  ;  so  many  trees 
wither  and  die  at  once,  and  so  many  linger  on  in  a 
sickly  and  discouraging  state,  holding  places  which 
might  be  better  filled,  and,  after  all  the  care  that  has 
been  given  them,  disappointing  the  planter's  hopes 
at  last,  that  those  who  commence  the  undertaking 
with  enthusiasm  are  apt  to  give  it.  over  in  despair. 
It  is  therefore  very  important  to  establish  and  make 
known  some  rules  upon  the  subject,  which  shall  pre 
vent  such  waste  of  labor,  money,  and  time ;  and,  if 
this  could  be  done,  it  would  secure  to  the  public  the 
benefit  of  many  such  improvements ;  for  there  are 
those  who  would  have  spirit  enough  to  make  them, 
if  they  could  do  it  with  a  reasonable  assurance  that 
their  exertions  would  not  be  thrown  away.  We 
believe  that  there  is  much  more  public  spirit  existing 
everywhere  than  we  see  displayed  in  this  or  any 
other  way;  for  no  man  attempts  an  enterprise  with 
vigor  unless  he  is  confident  of  success,  and  so  many 
endeavors  of  this  kind  have  failed,  that  few  have  any 
very  inspiring  hope  of  raising  arches  of  shade  which 
shall  make  those  who  come  after  him  approve  his 
taste  and  bless  his  friendly  hand. 


AMERICAN    FOREST-TREES,  93 

The  art  of  transplanting  is  old  enough  to  be  better 
understood  than  it  is.  It  is  one  of  those  things, 
which,  because  it  is  easily  done,  is  seldom  well  done. 
It  is  well  known  that  the  Greeks  and  Romans 
were  in  the  constant  habit  of  removing  trees  and 
even  plantations  of  considerable  size,  without  observ 
ing  any  other  rule  than  that  which  is  now  in  common 
use  among  our  planters,  who  trim  the  branches  in 
proportion  to  what  the  roots  have  suffered  in  the  op 
eration.  Count  Maurice,  of  Nassau,  when  governor 
of  Brazil,  chose  a  naked  island  for  his  residence  ; 
and,  by  removing  trees  in  great  numbers,  some  of 
them  fifty  years  old  and  more,  soon  covered  it  with 
verdure  and  beauty.  Similar  attempts  were  made 
in  Europe,  some  of  them  of  a  still  bolder  character  ; 
the  trees  being  transplanted  in  mid-summer.  Evelyn 
observes,  that  huge  oaks  had  been  removed  in  France 
before  his  day.  Louis  XIV.  was  a  great  transplanter 
both  of  trees  and  men ;  but  unfortunately  he  re 
moved  the  trees  with  as  little  regard  to  principle  as 
he  manifested  in  removing  the  men.  In  these  at 
tempts,  a  ball  of  earth  was  carried  with  the  tree, 
which  added  considerably  to  the  weight,  particularly 
when  the  earth  was  frozen.  All  these  improvements 
required  great  expense  and  labor,  and  were  ways  in 
which  the  wealthy  showed  their  power,  rather  than 
suggestions  of  taste  and  a  love  of  nature. 

The  well-known  experiment  of  Sir  Henry  Stuart 
was  the  first  attempt  at  decided  improvement,  and, 
like  most  other  valuable  discoveries,  was  not  owing 
to  accident,  but  was  the  result  of  scientific  inquiry 
into  the  subject.  It  seemed  as  unnatural  to  him  to 


94  AMERICAN    FOREST-TREES. 

mangle  and  he\v  the  tree  before  its  removal,  as  to 
amputate  the  limbs  of  an  emigrant  before  he  leaves 
his  country.  It  is  true,  there  must  be  sufficient  root 
to  convey  support  to  the  stem  and  leaves  ;  but,  if  the 
root  be  preserved  unmutilatecl,  so  may  the  stem  and 
branches;  and  it  may  be  so  preserved,  either  by 
taking  up  the  whole,  or  by  cutting  off  the  ends  of 
the  larger  roots  in  the  preceding  spring.  They  soon 
throw  out  fibres,  and  convey  the  same  nourishment 
as  before,  though  they  spread  in  a  narrower  circle. 
Being  thus  contracted  into  a  small  space,  it  requires 
less  time  to  dig  round  and  raise  them ;  and,  as  the 
place  to  receive  the  tree  is  previously  made  ready, 
the  whole  operation  is  finished  with  but  small  ex 
pense  of  labor  or  time.  This  suggestion,  simple  and 
natural  as  it  seems,  was  entirely  new  ;  and  the  suc 
cess  with  which  it  has  been  followed  by  himself  and 
others  will  inspire  many  to  follow  his  example.  On 
his  own  estate  he  supplied,  by  his  own  energy,  both 
the  woods  and  waters.  It  was  originally  destitute  of 
both,  but  now  affords  the  varieties  of  grove  and  forest, 
promontory  and  island,  lake  and  river,  produced,  not 
by  resisting,  but  by  following,  the  dictates  of  nature, 
whose  unceasing  endeavor  it  is  to  remove  barrenness, 
to  extend  and  strengthen  vegetation,  and  who  spreads 
her  bright  green  wreaths  even  over  the  ruins  made 
by  the  desolating  hands  of  man. 

But,  in  the  face  of  these  successful  experiments, 
we  must  confess,  that  we  agree  with  the  author  of 
this  work  that  the  best  way  of  raising  trees  is  from 
the  seed.  When  sown  in  a  favorable  soil,  they  grow 
so  rapidly  that  they  will  almost  overtake  those  which 


AMERICAN    FOREST-TREES.  95 

have  been  transplanted,  which,  though  they  live  and 
flourish,  do  not  always  recover  their  vigor.  Any  one 
may  observe  how  soon  the  tree  which  springs  from  the 
chance-sown  seed  rises  and  throws  its  shadow  over 
his  garden  ;  and  he  may  be  sure  that  it  will  not  grow 
less  rapidly  when  the  seed  is  sown  with  care.  We 
have  seen  those  who  have  raised  their  shade  about 
them  in  this  way ;  and  their  patience  has  been  well 
rewarded  in  a  space  of  time  which  seemed  surpris 
ingly  short  even  to  themselves.  Doubtless,  if  it  were 
possible  to  procure  young  trees  raised  for  the  pur 
pose,  a  few  years  might  be  saved ;  but  our  nurseries 
will  not  afford  them ;  and  to  take  trees  from  the 
forest,  for  the  purpose,  is  like  forcing  owls  into 
the  sun.  We  would  recommend  it,  therefore,  to  the 
planter  to  arm  himself  with  that  patience  which  is 
said  to  belong  to  the  husbandman  ;  to  sow  the  seed 
with  both  hands ;  and  to  take  encouragement  from 
the  thought,  that,  if  he  does  not  enjoy  the  results  of 
his  labors,  others  will.  But  these  should  be  generous 
labors :  they  belong  to  liberal  spirits,  they  imply  a  cer 
tain  degree  of  refinement ;  such  refinement  as  makes 
men  willing  to  exert  themselves  without  money  and 
without  price. 

We  take  the  liberty  to  recommend  to  every  man 
who  has  an  inch  of  ground,  to  fill  it  up  with  a  tree. 
There  are  many  who  will  do  nothing  of  the  kind, 
because  their  territories  are  small.  We  can  assure 
them  that  they  will  find  the  truth  of  what  Hesiod 
said  to  agriculturists  thousands  of  years  ago,  that 
half  an  estate  is  more  than  the  whole.  Within  these 
limits,  however  small,  they  produce  effects  which 


96  AMERICAN    FOREST-TREES. 

will  fill  even  themselves  with  surprise.  If  their  enclo 
sure  be  within  the  city,  where  the  object  is  to  make 
the  most  of  their  possessions,  they  should  remember, 
that,  if  they  cannot  have  verdure  on  the  soil,  they  can 
have  it  in  the  air  ;  and,  if  in  the  country,  that  nothing 
gives  a  more  unfavorable,  and  at  the  same  time  cor 
rect,  impression  of  the  character  of  a  landholder,  than 
the  aspect  of  an  estate  which  presents  no  trees  along 
its  borders,  to  shelter  the  traveller  from  the  sun. 
Every  cottage  should  have  its  elm,  extending  its 
mighty  protecting  arms  above  it.  The  associations 
and  partialities  of  children  will  twine  themselves  like 
wild  vines  around  it ;  and,  if  any  one  doubt  that  he 
Avill  be  better  and  happier  for  such,  he  little  knows 
the  feeling  with  which  the  wayfarer  in  life  returns 
from  the  wilderness  of  men  to  the  shadow, 

"  Where  once  his  careless  childhood  strayed, 
A  stranger  yet  to  pain." 

We  wish  it  were  in  our  power  to  do  something  to 
call  the  general  attention  to  the  subject  of  respect 
to  the  dead.  It  gives  a  painful  feeling  to  pass 
through  a  city  or  village  in  our  country,  and  to  see 
the  shameful  desolation  and  neglect  of  the  burial- 
place,  which,  if  no  longer  consecrated  by  religious 
acts,  should  certainly  be  held  sacred  by  the  heart. 
And  yet,  were  it  not  for  the  monuments  which  here 
and  there  appear  above  the  golden-rod  and  the  aster, 
we  should  not  know  these  from  any  other  barren 
fields.  A  vile  enclosure  of  unpainted  wood  is  all 
that  protects  them  from  violation  ;  and,  if  any  tree 
cast  a  friendly  shadow  over  it,  we  may  be  sure  it  is 


AMERICAN    FOREST-TREES.  97 

one  planted  by  the  hand  of  nature,  not  of  man.  We 
have  seen  places  of  this  kind  in  the  country,  which 
the  fathers  of  the  hamlet  seemed  to  have  chosen  with 
a  taste  seldom  found  among  the  early  inhabitants  of 
any  region,  on  the  banks  of  rivers,  or  the  borders  of 
deep  forests,  where  every  thing  around  favored  the 
contemplation  to  which  the  mind  in  such  places  is 
and  ought  to  be  led,  and  have  found  evidence  there 
of  the  degeneracy,  not  the  improvement,  of  their 
children,  who  had  disappointed  their  designs,  and 
suffered  all  to  run  to  waste  and  barrenness,  whether 
from  want  of  refinement  or  from  avarice  we  did  not 
know.  It  is  perfectly  surprising  that  none  should 
be  found  to  take  away  this  reproach.  Some  of  the 
most  uncivilized  nations  are  ages  before  us  in  their 
regard  for  these  delicate  and  sacred  feelings.  They 
would  not  permit  the  young  and  beautiful,  the  aged 
and  honorable,  to  be  cast  into  a  place  so  neglected, 
when  even  a  dog  who  had  been  faithful  would 
deserve  a  more  honored  grave.  Our  own  evergreen 
cypress  is  as  suitable  as  the  Oriental  to  surround  the 
place  of  death  ;  and,  were  it  not  so,  we  have  many 
other  trees  whose  character  of  form  and  foliage  is 
well  suited  to  the  sad  and  thoughtful  expression, 
which  the  common  feeling  requires  such  places  to 
bear. 

There  is  no  need  of  urging  the  claims  of  this  kind 
of  improvement  upon  the  inhabitants  of  our  cities. 
They  are  in  general  sufficiently  attentive  to  their 
public  grounds  ;  but  one  thing  is  a  little  remarkable 
in  their  proceedings  ;  they  confine  themselves  to  a 
single  tree.  Can  any  mortal  inform  us  why  a  spot 


93  AMERICAN    FOREST-TREES, 

Jike  the  common  of  our  city,  for  example,  where 
thousands  of  trees  might  stand  without  interfering 
with  the  public  or  each  other,  should  not  afford 
specimens  of  other  trees  beside  the  elm  ?  It  is  a 
noble  tree,  perhaps  the  finest  that  could  be  chosen  ; 
but  the  polished  foliage  of  the  oak,  the  light  green  of 
the  plane-tree  and  willow,  the  various  forms  and 
shades  of  the  maples,  larches,  and  pines,  would  break 
the  uniformity  of  the  scene,  and  relieve  the  eye. 
Moreover,  groups  of  trees  might  be  scattered  here 
and  there  to  advantage,  without  injury  to  the  public  ; 
for,  if  they  should  occasionally  break  the  ranks  of 
the  train-bands,  we  apprehend  that  no  serious  conse 
quences  would  endanger  the  defence  of  our  country. 
Places  for  which  nature  has  done  much,  require  the 
more  of  man,  because  they  offer  him  a  vantage- 
ground  to  begin  his  improvements,  and  constantly 
upbraid  him  if  he  neglects  them. 


99 


HABITS    OF    INSECTS. 


Insect  Architecture.    Insect  Transformations.    Insect  Miscellanies. 
London,  1831. 

WE  never  have  had  the  honor  of  an  intimacy  with 
our  fellow-creatures  of  the  insect  race  ;  and  have 
occasionally  found  their  personal  attentions  so  trou 
blesome,  that  we  should  have  been  willing  to  drop 
their  acquaintance  altogether.  Since  this  may  not 
be,  and  AVC  must  tolerate  them,  whether  we  like  their 
company  or  not,  we  feel  grateful  to  those  who,  by 
their  patient  and  searching  investigations,  discover 
the  habits  and  characters  of  these  creatures,  which, 
though  they  have  much  to  reward  attention,  have 
but  few  attractions  to  invite  it.  We  can  understand 
the  passion  which  leads  such  men  as  Audubon  and 
Nuttall  to  encounter  the  evils  of  solitude,  hardship, 
and  privation,  and  to  feel  well  rewarded  by  the 
discovery  of  a  new  bird  or  flower,  better  than  the 
self-devotion  of  such  men  as  Reaumur  to  the  study 
of  the  insect  race,  the  greater  proportion  of  which 
seem  like  an  unlovely  rabble,  having  few  claims 
upon  the  gratitude  or  affection  of  man.  But  our 
hasty  impressions  on  this  subject,  as  well  as  most 
others,  would  mislead  us ;  for  these  philosophers 


100  HABITS    OF    INSECTS. 

have  opened  golden  mines  of  discovery  in  this  un 
promising  soil,  and  unfolded  some  of  the  most  strik 
ing  evidences  of  divine  wisdom  ever  presented  to 
man,  in  this  part  of  the  creation,  on  which  many  will 
not  dare  or  deign  to  look.  They  have  not  labored, 
however,  wholly  without  reward  ;  for  the  curious 
facts,  made  known  by  Huber  and  many  others,  have 
awakened  a  general  interest  in  the  subject ;  it  is 
now  embraced  within  the  demands  of  education  ;  it 
is  used  also  by  friends  to  human  improvement,  to 
inspire  a  general  thirst  for  knowledge,  which,  once 
inspired,  easily  directs  itself  to  the  channels  in  which 
it  can  move  to  most  advantage.  It  is  important  to 
take  care,  that  the  popular  demand  for  information 
shall  be  well  supplied.  There  is  some  cause  to 
apprehend,  that  popular  works  shall  be  manufactured 
for  the  booksellers,  which,  like  the  broth  sometimes 
provided  for  the  poor  in  cities  in  seasons  of  famine, 
shall  answer  the  double  purpose  of  satisfying  their 
hunger  for  the  present,  and  removing  all  temptation 
they  might  have  to  apply  again. 

These  works,  however,  are  not  of  a  description  to 
strengthen  these  fears.  They  appear  to  have  been 
prepared  for  the  "  Library  of  Entertaining  Know 
ledge"  by  the  English  naturalist,  Mr.  Rennie,  whose 
reputation  is  generally  known.  His  favorite  maxim 
is,  that  Natural  History  must  be  studied,  not  in 
human  abridgments  and  compilations,  but  in  the 
great  book  of  Nature.  This  plan  of  field-study 
requires,  to  be  sure,  more  earnestness  and  diligence 
than  every  one  possesses  :  it  is  not  every  one,  either, 
who  has  leisure  or  advantages  of  situation  for  pursu- 


HABITS    OF    INSECTS.  101 

ing  it.  Still  he  is  doubtless  right  in  saying,  that  the 
study  of  books  is  apt  to  be  a  study  of  words,  and  not 
of  things;  and  that  a  few  facts,  learned  from  personal 
observation,  will  inspire  more  interest  and  enthu 
siasm  than  the  study  of  books  for  years.  His  re 
marks  probably  are  meant  to  point  out  the  proper 
education  for  a  naturalist,  —  for  one  who  is  to  enter 
deeply  into  the  subject ;  but  the  great  majority  of 
readers,  while  they  do  not  wish  to  be  wholly  unin 
formed,  must,  from  the  necessity  of  the  case,  take 
the  observations  of  others  upon  trust.  They  will 
easily  persuade  themselves  to  submit  to  this  necessity, 
if  all  the  authorities  upon  which  they  are  compelled 
to  rely  are  as  entertaining  and  instructive  as  the 
author  of  the  works  before  us. 

We  observe  that  Mr.  Rennie,  like  other  entomolo 
gists,  Linnaeus  among  the  rest,  has  thought  it  neces 
sary  to  maintain  the  dignity  of  the  study.  There  is 
no  great  necessity  for  filing  this  protest  against  the 
common  feeling,  which  arises  from  "ignorance,  and 
disappears  as  fast  as  the  means  of  making  themselves 
acquainted  with  this  subject  have  been  offered  to  the 
world.  There  is  something  sufficiently  comic  in 
seeing  a  man  holding  forth,  with  the  eloquence  of 
Cicero,  upon  the  wonders  and  beauties  of  an  insect's 
wing.  We  are  struck  with  the  physical  dispropor 
tion  between  the  investigator  and  his  subject ;  but 
we  do  not  doubt,  all  the  while,  that  he  has  found 
something  fully  worthy  the  attention  of  an  enlight 
ened  mind.  There  are  smiles  which  are  perfectly 
consistent  with  respect,  and  playful  satire  with  which 
no  one  needs  feel  insulted.  There  is  no  great  malice 

9* 


102  HABITS    OF    INSECTS. 

in  such  ridicule  as  this ;  and  it  is  rather  forbearing 
than  otherwise,  when  it  is  considered  what  language 
the  enthusiasts  in  the  science  have  sometimes  used. 
One  of  the  most  distinguished  among  them  was  so 
lost  iii  rapture  at  contemplating  the  evolutions  of  a 
party  of  insects  upon  the  wing,  that  they  reminded 
him  of  nothing  less  than  seraphs  and  sons  of  light, 
shining  in  the  glories  of  their  heavenly  state ;  a  com 
parison  quite  too  lofty  for  the  occasion,  and  one 
Avhich  the  most  ambitious  insect  would  confess  was 
quite  beyond  his  pretensions.  Apart  from  the  dis 
position  which  men  have  to  exalt  their  favorite  pur 
suit,  it  is  well  known  that  the  spirit  of  philosophical 
investigation,  whether  it  directs  itself  to  beast,  bird, 
or  flower,  or,  as  is  generally  the  case,  includes  them 
all,  is  one  which  is  seldom  found,  except  in  enlight 
ened  and  active  minds.  It  affords  to  such  minds  a 
pursuit,  in  its  lower  stages  harmless  and  happy,  and 
in  its  higher  efforts  requiring  intellectual  exertion 
sufficient  to  recommend  it  to  great  men,  as  a  field 
in  which  their  powers  may  be  worthily  and  religious 
ly  employed. 

The  advantage  of  supplying  means  of  happiness 
to  men  is  not  generally  understood  ;  and  yet,  in  ordi 
nary  circumstances,  whatever  makes  men  happier 
makes  them  better  ;  a  fact  which  has  hitherto  been 
strangely  overlooked  by  moralists,  but  now  begins 
to  be  regarded  as  one  of  the  most  important  princi 
ples  of  moral  reform  by  those  who  would  root  out 
prevailing  vices,  and  supply  men  with  those  induce 
ments  and  encouragements,  without  which  they  will 
do  nothing  even  for  their  own  welfare.  Most  men 


HABITS    OF    INSECTS.  103 

are  driven  to  lawless  pleasure  by  vacancy  of  rnind, 
by  the  torture  of  a  mind  preying  upon  itself  for  want 
of  foreign  materials  to  act  upon  ;  and,  as  learning 
has  been  regarded  as  quite  beyond  the  common 
reach,  none  but  minds  highly  cultivated,  or  very 
energetic  by  nature,  have  been  able  to  find  a  suffi 
cient  number  of  worthy  objects  to  engage  them. 
Action  is  as  important  to  the  mind  as  it  was  to  elo 
quence,  in  the  opinion  of  the  great  master  of  the  art : 
action  the  mind  must  have,  right  or  wrong.  It  is 
well  if  it  can  find  ways  in  which  its  activity  may  be 
exerted,  without  running  to  waste,  or  bringing  injury 
to  itself  or  others ;  and  whoever  points  out  such 
ways,  not  to  the  enlightened  few  only,  but  makes 
them  so  plain  that  all  the  world  can  see  them,  de 
serves  to  be  regarded  as  the  greatest  reformer  of 
popular  vices,  because  he  destroys  the  root  of  the 
evil,  while  others  have  been  laboring  without  success 
upon  the  branches,  which  spring  again  with  new 
vigor  as  fast  as  they  are  hewn  away.  Even  when 
the  mind  is  most  inactive,  an  action,  though  not  vol 
untary,  is  going  on  in  it,  which  tends  fast  to  its  injury 
and  corruption  ;  its  calm,  like  that  of  the  waters, 
if  it  endure  for  any  length  of  time,  becomes  stag 
nation  ;  and  this  is  a  danger  to  which  men  are  the 
more  exposed,  because  the  mind  never  seems  so  rapt, 
so  absorbed  in  meditation,  as  when  it  is  thinking  of 
nothing  at  all.  Cowper  has  well  described  the  sol 
emn  aspect  of  the  dreamer,  gazing  upon  the  evening 
fire,  looking  as  if  he  were  deliberating  upon  the  fate 
of  nations,  while  nothing  that  deserves  to  be  honored 
with  the  name  of  a  thought  passes  through  his  mind 


104  HABITS    OF    INSECTS. 

for  hours  together.  So,  too,  in  a  solitary  walk,  which 
is  generally  supposed  to  be  so  favorable  to  thought, 
the  mind  gives  itself  up  to  reverie,  without  exerting 
itself  to  any  good  purpose.  Now,  if  the  naturalist 
can  make  men  attentive  and  observant ;  if  he  can 
make  them  note  the  construction  and  contrivances  of 
insects,  in  which  instinct  seems  sometimes  to  surpass 
intelligence  in  the  skill  and  success  of  its  operations ; 
if  he  can  make  them  regard  the  beauty  of  the  deli 
cate  flower,  which  they  used  to  crush  beneath  their 
feet,  or  induce  them  to  listen  to  the  song  and  observe 
the  plumage  of  the  bird,  which  formerly,  if  not  a 
"  good  shot,"  was  nothing  to  them,  he  will  afford  to 
them  a  never-failing  source  of  enjoyment,  and  secure 
to  his  favorite  sciences  the  benefit  of  many  useful 
facts  and  observations. 

Insects  are  now  a  formidable  body,  and  were 
much  more  so  in  former  times,  when  their  habits  arid 
persons  were  less  familiarly  known.  Men  had  not 
begun  to  ask  whence  they  came,  nor  whither  they 
were  going  ;  but  they  found  them  when  they  least 
desired  their  company,  and  there  was  a  sort  of  mys 
tery  in  their  movements,  which,  more  than  any  thing 
else,  tends  to  inspire  the  feeling  of  dread.  It  was  on 
this  account  that  they  were  first  distinguished  by  the 
name  of  bug,  which,  however  it  may  have  degener 
ated  into  a  watchword  of  contempt  at  the  present 
day,  was  formerly  synonymous  with  ghost  or  spec 
tre,  and  equally  alarming.  The  passage  of  Scripture 
from  the  Psalms,  "  Thou  shall  not  nede  to  be  afraide 
of  any  bug  by  night,"  as  it  stood  in  Matthews's  old 
English  Bible,  is  probably  known  to  our  readers. 


HABITS    OF    INSECTS,  105 

Later  translators  have  judiciously  substituted  a  more 
general  word  in  its  stead.  But  even  now,  consider 
ing  their  power  to  destroy  our  peace,  there  is  some 
reason  to  fear  them  ;  and,  were  there  nothing  else 
formidable  about  them,  their  numbers  are  sufficiently 
alarming.  When  we  hear  their  concert  on  a  summer 

O 

evening,  it  sounds  as  if  every  leaf  and  every  blade 
of  grass  had  found  a  voice,  though,  in  fact,  there  is 
no  voice  in  the  matter  :  they  deal  wholly  in  instru 
mental  music.  Some  have  heard  a  voice-like  sound 
proceeding  from  a  moth  occasionally  ;  but  their  con 
cert  —  great  nature's  hum  —  is  produced  by  rubbing 
the  hard  shells  of  the  wings  against  the  trunk,  or  to 
gether,  which  makes  a  sharp  and  shrill  sound  that 
can  be  heard  at  a  considerable  distance.  The  hum 
of  insects  on  the  wing  can  be  heard  when  the  per 
former  is  invisible.  We  remember,  that,  once  stand 
ing  in  a  summer  day  on  the  top  of  a  high  hill,  we 
heard  a  sound  as  of  a  million  bees  directly  over  our 
head,  when  not  an  insect,  which  could  be  held  re 
sponsible  for  any  noise,  was  within  our  view.  Such 
cases  are  not  uncommon ;  and  the  only  explanation 
is,  that  the  authors  of  the  sound  are  distant,  and  its 
loudness  deceives  us  into  the  impression  that  it  is 
nigh. 

We  will  suggest  some  advantages  of  an  acquaint 
ance  with  this  subject ;  we  mean  a  general  acquaint 
ance,  such  as  popular  works  are  calculated  to  give. 
For  example,  the  insect  called  the  death-watch  was 
formerly  thought  to  sound  an  alarm  of  death  to 
some  inmate  of  the  mansion  where  it  was  heard, 
though  it  would  have  required  a  perpetual  cholera 


106  HABITS    OF    INSECTS. 

to  have  fulfilled  half  the  number  of  his  predictions. 
Now,  it  is  known  to  proceed  from  a  little  wood-bor 
ing  insect,  whose  skull  is  somewhat  hard,  and  who 
uses  it  for  the  purpose  of  a  signal  to  others.  Stand 
ing  on  its  hind  legs,  it  beats  regularly  on  a  board  a 
number  of  times,  —  a  process,  which,  comparing  its 
force  with  the  size  of  the  insect,  one  would  think 
more  likely  to  be  fatal  to  itself  than  to  those  who 
hear  it.  The  bug,  so  well  known  in  connection  with 
"  rosy  dreams  arid  slumbers  light,"  Avhen  it  was  first 
imported  into  England,  occasioned  equal  dismay,  — 
an  alarm  not  wholly  superstitious  and  unreasonable, 
when  we  remember  how  often  it  has  "  murdered  the 
sleep  "  of  the  innocent  as  well  as  the  guilty.  If  we 
may  believe  David  Deans,  the  Scotch  bewail  its  intro 
duction  among  them  as  one  of  the  evils  of  the  Union, 
and  for  that  reason  distinguish  it  by  the  name  of  the 
English  bug.  The  history  of  the  Hessian  fly,  which 
made  its  appearance  at  the  close  of  the  American 
war,  and  which  certain  aged  people,  believing  it  to 
be  a  consequence  of  our  separation  from  the  British 
Government,  named  the  Revolution  fly,  shows  how 
much  alarm  and  trouble  ignorance  of  the  character 
of  a  little  insect  may  occasion.  They  first  appeared 
in  Staten  Island,  and  spread  rapidly,  destroying  the 
wheat  upon  their  way.  They  passed  the  Delaware 
in  clouds,  and  swarmed  like  the  flies  of  Egypt  in 
every  place  where  their  presence  was  unwelcome. 
The  British,  naturally  disliking  every  thing  that  sa 
vored  of  revolution,  were  in  great  fear  lest  they 
should  reach  their  island,  and  resolved  to  prevent  it, 
if  necessary,  with  all  the  power  of  their  fleet.  The 


HABITS    OF    INSECTS.  107 

privy  council  sat  day  after  day ;  despatches  were 
sent  to  all  the  foreign  ministers ;  expresses  were  sent 
to  the  custom-houses  to  close  the  ports ;  Sir  Joseph 
Banks,  who  held  such  matters  in  special  charge,  — 
as  Swift  said  Mr.  Flamstead  was  once  appointed  by 
Government  to  look  after  the  stars,  —  Avas  called 
upon  to  exert  himself,  with  such  importunity,  that, 
if  such  a  thing  were  possible,  he  grew  almost  pro 
fane  upon  the  occasion.  He  shouted  across  the 
ocean  to  Dr.  Mitchell,  while  the  doctor  stood  wring 
ing  his  hands  upon  the  western  shore.  When  he 
had  collected  all  the  information  which  could  be 
furnished  by  scientific  and  practical  men  concerning 
the  bug  in  question,  amounting  to  more  than  two 
hundred  octavo  pages,  he  enlightened  the  Govern 
ment  with  the  information,  that  he  did  not  know 
what  the  creature  was ;  a  report  satisfactory  as  far 
as  it  went,  no  doubt,  but  which  might,  for  aught  that 
appears,  have  been  reduced  to  somewhat  smaller 
dimensions.  If  any  one  could  have  furnished  a 
scientific  description  of  the  insect,  it  might  have  been 
probably  arrested  in  its  depredations ;  and,  if  not, 
there  would  have  been  some  consolation  to  men, 
could  they  have  pointed  it  out  to  the  indignation  and 
scorn  of  the  world. 

Our  cultivators  can  furnish  illustrations  enough  of 
the  evils  of  ignorance  on  this  subject.  The  common 
locust,  robinia  pseudacacia,  whose  velvet  leaf  ex 
ceeds  other  foliage  in  beauty  as  much  as  its  wood 
exceeds  that  of  other  trees  in  value,  is  almost  ruined 
in  New  England  by  the  larva  of  a  moth,  which  is 
known  to  naturalists,  but  which  no  means  have  yet 


103  HABITS    OF    INSECTS. 

been  able  to  destroy.  We  know,  that,  in  plantations 
lately  made,  the  ravages  of  the  insect  have  been  con 
fined  to  their  sunny  borders;  but  we  greatly  fear, 
that,  in  a  year  or  two,  they  will  carry  their  inroads 
into  the  heart  of  the  groves.  Certainly,  the  fine  trees 
of  this  description  which  fringe  the  highways  and 
surround  the  cottages  must  be  given  up  to  this  little 
pest,  which,  so  far  as  we  know  at  present,  will  only 
cease  from  its  labors  on  condition  of  being  cut  in  two. 
The  cankerworm,  too,  is  waging  a  war  of  extermina 
tion  upon  our  fruit-trees.  After  passing  the  winter 
in  the  ground,  —  would  that  it  were  its  grave  !  —  the 
insect  makes  over  the  tree  to  its  heirs,  which  can 
only,  with  our  present  knowledge,  be  checked  by 
means  that,  like  curing  the  headache  by  amputation, 
are  too  effectual  for  the  end  proposed.  Pear-orchards 
resemble  the  gardens  of  the  French  nobleman,  men 
tioned  by  Madame  de  Stael,  which  were  planted  with 
dead  trees  in  order  to  inspire  contemplation :  not 
knowing  enough  of  the  borer  to  be  able  to  bring  him 
to  justice,  the  cultivator  can  only  sigh  over  his  more 
than  lost  labors.  But  for  Dr.  Franklin,  it  would 
have  been  more  common  than  it  is  now,  and  the 
practice  is  by  no  means  obsolete,  for  every  family  to 
supply  itself  with  moschettoes  by  keeping  large,  open 
vessels  of  water  near  their  houses,  as  if  for  the  special 
benefit  of  this  insect,  whose  bark  and  bite  are  equally 
undesirable.  The  moschetto  lays  its  eggs  upon  the 
water,  where  they  are  hatched  into  grubs,  which 
float  with  their  heads  downward :  when  the  time  for 
their  change  is  come,  they  break  through  their  outer 
covering,  and  draw  themselves  out  standing  upright, 


HABITS    OF    INSECTS.  109 

so  that  they  appear  like  a  vessel,  the  corslet  being 
the  boat,  and  the  body  officiating  as  mast  and  sail. 
Their  former  sea-change  is  now  reversed  ;  for,  should 
their  naval  establishment  overset,  they  are  inevitably 
lost  rnoschettoes.  As  soon  as  their  wings  are  dried, 
they  fly  away  to  their  work  of  blood.  As  six  or 
seven  generations  are  born  in  a  summer,  and  each 
mother  can  furnish  two  hundred  and  fifty  eggs,  it  is 
evident  that  a  vessel  of  water,  properly  neglected, 
will  people  the  air  of  a  whole  neighborhood.  But 
there  is  no  end  to  the  list  of  evils  arising  from  igno 
rance  on  this  subject.  One  of  the  choicest  speci 
mens  of  it  we  have  ever  heard  is  that  of  gardeners 
in  Germany,  who  collect  and  bury  grubs  in  order  to 
destroy  them  ;  a  mode  of  destruction  quite  as  fatal 
as  that  of  throwing  fish  into  the  water  to  drown 
them. 

It  would  be  easy  to  give  some  striking  illustrations 
of  the  advantages  of  knowledge  on  this  subject.  The 
manner  in  which  peach-trees  are  secured  from  the 
depredations  of  the  insect  which  every  year  destroys 
many  is  familiarly  known.  The  insect  deposits  its 
eggs  in  the  bark  of  a  tree,  as  nearly  as  possible 
to  the  surface  of  the  ground.  When  it  is  obliged  to 
resort  to  the  branches,  besides  that  it  is  more  easily 
discovered  by  the  gum  which  flows  from  the  wound, 
the  grub  would  generally  be  arrested  by  the  cold 
before  it  could  make  its  way  to  the  root,  where  it 
retreats  in  winter.  By  ascertaining  the  time  when 
these  eggs  are  laid,  and  tying  straw  or  matting  round 
the  trunk  of  the  tree,  its  injuries  are  easily  prevented. 
We  are  persuaded  that  the  ravages  of  the  clothes- 
10 


110  HABITS    OF    INSECTS. 

moth,  the  creature  to  whom  food  and  raiment  are 
one,  might  be  prevented  by  exposing  clothes  to  the 
light  at  the  time  of  oviposition.  When  the  timber 
was  found  to  be  perishing  in  the  dock-yards  of  Swe 
den,  the  king  applied  to  Linnaeus  to  discover  a 
remedy ;  thus  acknowledging  the  dependence  of 
commerce,  national  defence,  and  royal  power,  upon 
humble  scientific  researches.  He  ascertained  the 
time  when  the  insect  deposited  its  eggs ;  and,  by 
sinking  the  timber  in  water  at  that  period,  the  evil 
was  effectually  prevented. 

•  We  certainly  receive  many  serious  injuries  at  the 
hands  of  the  insect  race.  But  they  are  not  wholly 
unprovoked ;  nor  can  it  be  denied,  that,  if  they  tor 
ment  us,  we  also  torment  them.  It  is  to  be  hoped 
that  the  time  will  come  when  we  shall  be  able  to  deal 
with  them  as  with  larger  animals,  exterminating  those 
which  cannot  be  employed  in  the  service  of  man. 
At  present,  however,  their  ingenuity,  their  perseve 
rance,  and  their  numbers,  render  it  hopeless  for  man 
to  make  any  general  crusade  against  them.  But  we 
have  little  to  complain  of,  compared  with  the  inhabi 
tants  of  warmer  climates.  Dr.  Clarke  tells  us,  that 
in-the  Crimea  he  found  the  moschettoes  so  venomous, 
that,  in  spite  of  gloves  and  every  other  defence,  he 
was  one  entire  wound.  In  a  sultry  night  he  sought 
shelter  in  his  carriage  ;  they  followed  him  there ;  and 
when  he  attempted  to  light  a  candle,  they  extinguished 
it  by  their  numbers.  In  South  America  there  are 
countless  varieties  ;  some  pursue  their  labors  by  day, 
and  others  by  night ;  they  form  different  strata  in  the 
air ;  and  new  detachments  relieve  guard  as  fast  as 


HABITS    OF    INSECTS.  Ill 

the  former  are  exhausted.  Humboldt  tells  us,  that 
near  Rio  Unare,  the  wretched  inhabitants  bury  them 
selves  in  the  sand,  all  excepting  the  head,  in  order  to 
sleep  :  we  should  think  that,  in  such  a  condition,  they 
would  be  sorely  tempted  to  make  no  exception. 
Even  this  is  riot  so  great  an  evil  as  the  destruction 
made  by  the  white  ants  among  papers  of  all  descrip 
tions.  The  same  authority  mentions,  that  there  are 
no  documents  of  any  antiquity  spared  by  this  de 
stroyer  :  it  invades  the  tenure  of  property,  the  dura 
tion  of  literature,  the  record  of  history,  and  all  the 
means  of  existence  and  improvement,  by  which  civil 
society  is  held  together.  It  is  melancholy  enough  to 
see  gardens,  fields,  and  forests,  sinking  into  dust ; 
but  we  must  confess  that  this  last  calamity  quite  ex 
ceeds  all  others. 

Millions  of  insects  infest  our  gardens.  The  plant- 
lice  cover  the  leaves  and  draw  out  their  juices,  so 
that  they  wither  and  fall.  The  ants  compel  these 
aphides  to  give  up  to  them  what  they  have  plundered 
from  the  tree.  These  insects,  the  aphides,  are  so 
small,  that  they  would  seem  to  have  no  great  power 
to  do  harm :  still,  as  there  are  twenty  generations  in 
a  year,  "  the  son  can  finish  what  his  short-lived  sire 
begun."  Our  ornamental  plants  thus  lose  all  their 
beauty  ;  tortrices  roll  up  their  leaves ;  leaf-cutter 
bees  shear  out  their  patterns;  and  the  mysterious 
rose-bugs  pour  in  numbers  faster  than  man  can  de 
stroy  them,  in  the  proportion  of  ten  to  one.  The 
honey-dew,  which  formerly  occasioned  so  much 
speculation,  concerning  which  Pliny  could  not  say 
positively  whether  it  was  the  sweat  of  heaven  or  the 


112  HABITS    OF    INSECTS. 

saliva  of  the  stars,  is  now  known  to  be  the  secretion 
of  an  insect,  instead  of  falling  from  the  skies.  If  man 
had  sense  enough  to  prevent  the  destruction  of  birds, 
there  might  be  less  reason  to  complain  that  the  labors 
of  the  garden  are  so  often  rewarded  with  no  more 
substantial  result  than  vanity  and  vexation. 

The  animals  in  our  service  suffer  even  more  from 
insects  than  ourselves,  and  nothing  effectual  can  be 
done  to  prevent  it.  After  the  horse  has  been  irritated 
almost  to  madness  by  the  fly,  the  tabanus  (horse-fly) 
comes  to  bleed  him,  as  if  to  prevent  the  effects  of  his 
passion.  This  service  is  rendered  the  horse  sorely 
against  his  will ;  but  he  fears  nothing  so  much  as  the 
horse-bee  :  the  animal  is  violently  agitated  when  one 
of  these  is  near  him ;  if  he  be  in  the  pasture,  he  gal 
lops  away  to  the  water,  where  his  persecutor  dares 
not  follow  him.  Every  rider  knows  what  a  desperate 
enemy  he  has  in  the  forest-fly,  a  creature  difficult  to 
kill,  though  it  holds  life  in  so  light  esteem,  that  it 
prefers  death  to  quilting  its  hold.  An  insect  similar 
to  the  horse-bee  takes  the  ox  under  his  special  keep 
ing,  piercing  him  with  an  anger  of  very  curious  con 
struction.  But  it  is  needless  to  mention  particulars 
of  this  kind.  It  is  enough  to  say,  that  there  is  no 
domestic  beast  or  fowl  which  is  not  tormented  by 
some  kind  of  insect,  and  generally  more  than  one. 
The  abodes  of  pigeons  are  always  haunted  by  that 
ominous  bug,  which  is  such  an  enemy  to  the  rest  of 
man.  But  among  these  various  injuries  offered  to 
man  and  the  animals  under  his  protection,  —  to  whom 
his  protection  in  this  instance  does  but  little  good, — 
there  are  some  examples  of  forbearance  on  the  part 


HABITS    OF    INSECTS.  113 

of  insects  which  deserve  to  be  mentioned,  as  equally 
gratifying  and  unexpected.  The  insect  which  lays 
its  eggs  in  peas  deposits  them,  so  that  the  grub  may 
feed  upon  the  pea  after  it  ripens:  the  grub  feeds 
accordingly,  but  shows  such  discretion  in  its  opera 
tions  as  not  to  injure  the  germ,  even  when  it  eats  the 
pea  to  a  shell.  The  caterpillars,  also,  which  eat 
the  leaves  of  the  tree,  spare  the  bud,  so  that  its  growth 
is  not  seriously  injured.  It  may  be  well  to  mention, 
with  respect  to  the  former  insect,  that  its  presence  is 
not  always  seen  in  the  peas  which  it  inhabits ;  so  that 
those  who  eat  dried  peas,  which  are  not  split,  may 
be  gratified  to  learn,  that  they  secure  a  large  propor 
tion  of  animal  where  they  paid  only  for  vegetable 
food. 

It  is  not  necessary  to  go  out  of  the  house  to  learn 
the  injuries  which  insects  inflict  on  man  ;  who,  if  he 
be  the  lord  of  creation,  has  some  refractory  sub 
jects,  and  some  which  utterly  defy  his  power.  A 
great  proportion  of  these  domestic  inmates  have  no 
Christian  names :  whoever  speaks  of  them  is  obliged 
to  resort  to  the  learned  nomenclature.  Flour  and 
meal  are  eaten  by  the  grub  of  tenebrio  molitor ;  he 
will  not  give  us  the  trouble  of  making  it  into  bread 
for  him ;  though  it  is  very  acceptable  to  him  after  it 
has  passed  through  the  process  of  baking.  The  aca- 
rmfarince,  more  moderate  in  his  demands,  is  content 
to  feed  on  old  or  damaged  flour.  The  dermestes  pa- 
niceus  leads  a  seafaring  life,  solely  for  the  luxury  of 
feeding  upon  sea-biscuit :  the  more  hearty  grubs 
of  dermestes  and  tenebrio  lardarius  can  live  upon  no 
lighter  food  than  dried  meats  and  bacon.  Fresh 

10* 


114  HABITS    OF    INSECTS. 

meat,  however,  is  always  in  demand,  not  only  by 
the  flesh-fly,  but  the  wasp  and  hornet ;  and  all  these 
have  a  sweet  tooth,  and  make  a  practice  of  eating 
large  quantities  of  sugar.  Butter  and  lard  are  eaten 
by  crambus  pinguinalis  ;  the  cheese  maggot,  so 
renowned  for  his  unexampled  powers  of  still- 
vaulting,  lives  upon  new  cheese ;  but  the  more  epi 
curean  acarus  siro  will  not  touch  it  till  it  is  mouldy. 
The  musca  cellaris  drinks  our  vinegar ;  while  the 
oinopota  cellaris,  strong  in  the  cause  of  temper 
ance,  rejects  ardent  spirits,  and  drinks  nothing  but 
wine. 

There  are  some  valetudinarian  bugs  which  con 
sume  large  quantities  of  drugs  and  medicines ; 
though,  so  far  as  we  can  learn,  their  custom  is  little 
in  request  by  the  apothecaries.  The  sinodendrum 
pusillum  takes  rhubarb ;  there  is  a  kind  of  beetle 
which  eats  musk  ;  and  the  white  ants  are  well  known 
to  be  in  the  habit  of  chewing  opium.  Some  are  fond 
of  dress.  The  clothes-moth  is  so  retired  in  its  habits 
that  we  know  little  concerning  it,  except  that  it  eats 
our  clothes  in  summer.  The  tapetzella  feeds  on  the 
lining  of  carriages ;  the  pellionella  chooses  furs,  and 
shaves  them  clean  ;  the  melonella  eats  wax,  and,  in 
seasons  of  scarcity,  submits  to  eat  leather  or  paper. 
There  are  hundreds  which  live  on  wood ;  one  of 
which,  a  cerambyx,  after  eating  through  the  wooden 
roof,  forces  his  way  through  the  lead.  Some  have  a 
literary  turn.  The  crambus  pinguinalis,  like  some 
literary  gentlemen,  regards  books  only  with  an  eye 
to  the  binding.  Another,  called  the  learned  mite, 
acarus  eruditus,  eats  the  paste  that  fastens  the  paper 


HABITS    OF    INSECTS.  115 

over  the  edges  of  the  binding.  Another,  whose 
name  we  have  never  learned,  gets  between  the 
leaves,  and  devours  them  ;  while  the  anobium,  an 
industrious  little  beetle,  determined  to  make  himself 
thoroughly  acquainted  with  the  contents  of  the  work, 
goes  quietly  from  the  beginning  to  the  end.  We  are 
told  that  one  of  them,  in  a  public  library  in  France, 
went  through  twenty-seven  volumes  in  a  straight  line, 
so  that,  on  passing  a  cord  through,  the  whole  were 
lifted  at  once.  The  beetle  deserves  credit  for  this 
remarkable  exploit,  being  probably  the  only  living 
creature  who  had  ever  gone  through  the  book. 

To  those  who  resent  these  injuries,  it  may  be  con 
soling  to  know,  that  the  means  of  ample  vengeance 
are  within  their  reach ;  and,  if  they  choose  to  follow 
the  example  of  those  who  kill  and  eat  insects,  the 
insects  will  certainly  have  the  worst  of  the  war. 
The  Arabs,  as  is  well  known,  eat  locusts  with  great 
relish,  though,  for  reasons  not  certainly  founded 
upon  the  disparity  of  outward  favor,  they  look  with 
abhorrence  upon  crabs  and  lobsters.  The  Hotten 
tots  also  delight  to  have  locusts  make  their  appear 
ance,  though  they  eat  every  green  thing ;  calculating, 
with  some  foresight,  that,  as  they  shall  eat  the  lo 
custs,  they  shall  not  be  losers  in  the  long-run.  This 
people,  who  are  far  from  fastidious  in  any  of  their 
habits,  also  eat  ants  boiled,  raw,  or  roasted  after  the 
manner  of  coffee  ;  and  those  who  can  overcome 
the  force  of  prejudice,  so  far  as  to  try  the  experi 
ment,  confess  that  they  are  extremely  good  eating. 
Kirby,  the  English  naturalist,  bears  testimony  to 
this  effect.  Smeathman  says,  "  I  have  eaten  them 


116  HABITS    OF    INSECTS. 

dressed  in  this  way,  and  think  them  delicate,  nour 
ishing,  and  wholesome.  They  are  something  sweeter, 
though  not  so  cloying,  as  the  maggot  of  the  palm- 
tree  snout-beetle,  which  is  served  up  at  the  tables  of 
the  West  Indian  epicures,  particularly  the  French, 
as  one  of  the  greatest  luxuries  of  the  country."  * 
In  parts  of  Europe,  the  grubs  of  some  of  the  beetles 
are  highly  esteemed ;  the  cemmbyx  is  the  delight  of 
the  blacks  in  the  Islands ;  the  inhabitants  of  New 
Caledonia  are  partial  to  spiders.  Equidem  non  in- 
video,  miror  magis.  It  is  highly  probable,  that  a 
large  proportion  of  insects  were  intended  by  Provi 
dence  for  food ;  and,  if  we  will  not  eat  them,  it  is 
unreasonable  to  complain  of  their  numbers. 

Having  said  so  much  of  the  injuries  occasioned  by 
insects,  lest  we  should  excite  too  strong  a  prejudice 
against  them,  —  a  prejudice  which  they  have  no 
personal  attractions  to  balance  or  remove,  —  it  be 
comes  a  duty  to  mention  some  benefits,  for  which 
we  are  indebted  to  them.  The  list  of  these  benefits 
is  large  already ;  and  scientific  research,  aided  by 
popular  curiosity,  will  before  many  years  extend  it 
much  beyond  its  present  bounds.  It  will  be  a  happy 
day  for  the  insects,  when  their  good  qualities  are 
known.  The  bee  that  sails  with  so  much  airy  inde 
pendence  through  our  gardens,  perfectly  satisfied 

*  A  learned  foreigner,  with  whom  we  lately  conversed  upon  the  subject, 
gave  us  the  following  account  of  his  method  of  treating  these  insects.  When 
ever  in  his  walks  he  meets  with  an  ant-hill,  he  immediately  approaches  it  with 
the  end  of  his  walking-stick.  The  ants  come  out  in  great  numbers,  some  to 
reconnoitre,  and  some  for  the  mere  pleasure  of  the  excursion.  When  the  stick 
is  pretty  well  covered  with  them,  he  draws  it  through  his  lips,  and  secures  thenl^ 
all.  He  describes  the  taste  as  cool  and  sourish,  not  unlike  that  of  the  plant 
aorrel. 


HABITS    OF    INSECTS.  117 

that  they  were  planted  for  its  benefit  alone,  would 
find  little  protection  in  its  familiar  manners  and 
brilliant  dress,  were  it  not  able  to  lay  man  under 
obligations.  The  silk-worm,  which  is  now  cherished 
with  so  much  care,  would  be  rejected  with  disgust, 
like  other  caterpillars  of  the  garden,  were  it  not  able 
to  pay  for  protection  by  its  labor.  Those  that  de 
pend  upon  the  charity  of  man  find  but  little  quarter. 
It  is  in  vain  that  Shakspeare  assures  us,  that  the  pain 
of  the  trampled  insect  equals  that  of  the  suffering 
giant;  in  vain  that  Cowper  implores  us  not  need 
lessly  to  crush  a  worm :  unless  they  can  make  it  for 
man's  interest  to  protect  them,  they  have  little  for 
bearance  to  hope  for.  The  man  of  science,  there 
fore,  who  discovers  and  points  out  their  uses,  is 
certainly  a  friend  to  the  bugs. 

Generally  speaking,  insects  do  the  duty  of  scav 
engers.  In  our  climate,  they  are  useful  in  this 
capacity ;  but  their  labors  here  are  nothing,  com 
pared  with  their  exploits  in  warmer  countries,  which, 
if  they  are  uncomfortable  with  them,  would  be  un 
inhabitable  without  them.  Whenever  a  carcase  falls 
in  our  climate,  the  insects  move  to  it  in  air-lines : 
beetles  of  all  descriptions,  wasps,  hornets,  and  flies, 
lay  aside  all  minor  differences,  and  engage  in  the 
work  of  removing  it.  The  flesh-fly  deposits  in  it  its 
grub,  already  hatched,  that  it  may  lose  no  time ; 
and  as  this  last-named  insect  has  a  promising  family, 
—  a  single  parent  producing  more  than  twenty  thou 
sand  young,  which  eat  so  plentifully  as  to  add  two 
hundred  fold  to  their  weight  in  twenty-four  hours,  — 
the  nuisance  is  soon  abated.  In  warmer  countries, 


118  HABITS    OF    INSECTS. 

this  operation  is  carried  on  with  miraculous  expedi 
tion  :  before  the  air  can  be  tainted  by  the  savor  of 
corruption,  the  flesh  is  removed,  and  nothing  remains 
but  the  bones  whitening  in  the  sun.  They  do  a  still 
greater  service  to  men  in  removing  dead  vegetable 
matter.  They  generally  prefer  animal  food  ;  but,  as 
they  are  not  able  to  procure  it  oftener  than  an  Irish 
peasant,  they  all,  moschettoes  among  the  rest,  con 
tent  themselves  with  vegetable  substances.  Great 
numbers  of  the  flesh-fly  are  imposed  upon  by  plants 
similar  to  the  skunk  cabbage.  Supposing,  from  their 
peculiar  fragrance,  that  they  are  flesh  in  that  particu 
lar  state  of  decay,  which  epicures  delight  in,  the 
insects  deposit  their  eggs  upon  them  ;  and,  when 
the  young  are  hatched,  they  discover  the  mistake, 
quite  too  late  to  repair  it.  Reaumur  thinks  that  we 
are  indebted  to  this  fly  for  making  it  a  point  of  con 
science  not  to  eat  the  flesh  of  living  animals :  he  tried 
the  experiment,  and  found  that  they  unanimously 
refused  to  touch  the  flesh  of  a  living  pigeon.  It  is  a 
pity  that  naturalists  should  not  learn  humanity  from 
so  excellent  an  example. 

It  is  not  necessary  to  explain  to  our  readers,  that 
we  are  indebted  to  insects  for  silk  and  honey ;  the 
latter  having  been  used  from  the  earliest  ages,  and 
the  former  promising  to  be  used  as  extensively  in 
our  country  before  many  years.  It  is  fully  ascer 
tained,  that  our  climate  is  favorable  to  the  silk-Avorm, 
and  to  the  plant  on  which  it  lives ;  and  it  is  not  the 
habit  of  our  countrymen  to  neglect  any  opportunity 
of  securing  comfort  or  gain.  On  the  contrary,  they 
are  more  in  need  of  learning  from  the  insects  their 


HABITS    OF    INSECTS.  119 

judicious  habit  of  dividing  labor ;  for,  the  moment  a 
channel  of  adventure  is  opened,  they  rush  into  it 
with  a  force  which  sometimes  carries  them  far  be 
yond  the  end  proposed.  Here  is  a  constant  disposi 
tion  to  bite  the  chains  of  nature ;  and  as  he  who 
ascends  a  staircase  in  the  dark,  if  when  he  has  reached 
the  top  he  attempts  to  go  higher,  meets  with  a  pain 
ful  sensation  of  disappointment,  so  do  many  of  our 
countrymen  injure  themselves  by  attempting  to  draw 
from  their  chosen  pursuit  more  than  nature  ever 
intended  it  to  give.  There  is  no  question,  that  the 
manufacture  of  silk  Avill  be  greatly  and  rapidly  ex 
tended  ;  and  the  result  will  be  not  to  increase  luxury, 
but  to  change  what  is  now  a  luxury  into  a  necessary 
of  life.  Time  was  when  stockings  were  a  luxury : 
now  they  are  worn  by  the  beggars  of  our  country. 
It  is  upon  record,  that  a  king  borrowed  a  pair  of 
silk  stockings  for  a  public  occasion :  here  they  may 
be  found  in  the  possession  of  those  who,  unlike  the 
lilies  of  the  field,  both  toil  and  spin. 

We  are  indebted  to  insects  for  the  ink-powder,  an 
article  important  in  all  professions,  but  indispensable 
in  ours.  It  is  formed  by  a  cynips  on  the  quercus 
infectoria,  a  sort  of  shrub-oak  which  grows  in  Asia 
and  Africa,  whence  the  galls  are  constantly  exported. 
The  insect  bores  the  bark,  and  deposits  an  egg.  It 
is  generally  thought  to  insert  some  corrosive  fluid 
with  it,  which,  as  the  sap  flows  out  from  the  wound, 
gives  its  color  and  properties  to  the  gall,  that  grows 
and  swells  round  the  egg  for  the  young  insect's 
future  home.  There  is  some  difference  of  opinion 
as  to  this  process.  Mr.  Rennie  suggests,  that  the 


120  HABITS    OF    INSECTS. 

egg  may  be  protected  or  coated  with  gluten,  which 
prevents  the  escape  of  the  sap :  the  sap,  thus  con 
fined,  pushes  out  the  pellicle  of  gluten  that  covers  it, 
till  the  opening  is  closed  by  being  hardened  in  the 
air.  This  will  account  for  the  uniform  size  of  these 
productions.  The  galls  of  the  rose  and  willow  are 
well  known ;  the  gall  of  commerce  is  as  large  as  a 
marble.  This  furnishes  a  comfortable  dwelling  for 
the  young  insect,  and  a  dye  for  those  streams  of  ink 
\vhich  are  perpetually  flowing  in  the  civilized  world 
for  libel  or  literature,  for  evil  or  good.  They  are 
also  used  in  dying :  those  which  contain  the  insect 
being  called  blue  gall-nuts  ;  those  which  it  has  aban 
doned,  white.  An  insect  inhabitant  of  the  oak,  coc 
cus  ilicis,  was  formerly  used  in  dying  red.  In  modern 
times,  cochineal,  coccus  cacti,  is  generally  used.  The 
Spaniards  found  it  employed  by  the  Americans,  wrhen 
they  came  over  to  this  country.  It  was  supposed  to 
be  a  vegetable  production ;  and  it  was  not,  till  a 
period  comparatively  late,  discovered  to  be  a  living 
thing.  It  feeds  on  the  nopal,  a  kind  of  fig-tree  com 
mon  in  New  Spain  and  some  parts  of  India.  The 
inhabitants  preserve  them  in  their  houses  through  the 
rainy  season,  and,  when  it  is  over,  place  them  upon 
the  tree,  which  they  soon  cover.  They  are  after  a 
time  brushed  from  the  tree  with  the  tail  of  a  squirrel  ; 
and,  being  killed  either  by  artificial  heat  or  exposure 
to  the  sun,  the  inside  is  found  filled  with  the  red  dust 
which  forms  this  splendid  color.  So  important  is 
this  article  in  commerce,  that  the  East  India  Com 
pany  offered  a  reward  of  six  thousand  pounds  to  any 
one  who  should  succeed  in  naturalizing  it  in  their 


HABITS    OF    INSECTS.  t       121 

territories.  Another  insect  of  this  description  carries 
on  a  manufacture  of  unexampled  extent  and  variety, 
being  actually  employed  in  supplying  the  demands 
of  the  world  for  shell-lac,  beads,  sealing-wax,  lake, 
lacquer,  and  grindstones.  The  insect  covers  trees  of 
the  fig-kind,  in  Hindostan,  in  such  a  manner  that 
their  upper  branches  look  as  if  they  had  been  dipped 
in  blood.  The  substance  in  its  natural  state,  before 
it  is  separated  from  the  twig,  is  called  stick-lac,  from 
which  all  the  others  are  made.  After  being  separated, 
pounded,  and  having  the  color  extracted  by  water, 
it  is  called  seed-lac ;  when  melted  into  cakes,  it  is 
called  lump-lac ;  when  purified  and  transparent,  it 
is  the  shell-lac,  which  is  so  extensively  used.  It  is 
used  by  the  natives  to  make  rings,  necklaces,  and 
bracelets ;  mixed  with  cinnabar,  it  is  formed  into 
sealing-wax  ;  heated,  and  mingled  with  a  black  pow 
der,  it  forms  a  lacquer,  or  japan ;  and  the  coloring 
substance  extracted  from  the  stick-lac  is  the  lake  of 
our  painters.  Last,  but  not  least,  of  its  uses,  it  is 
mixed  up  with  river-sand,  and  moulded  into  grind 
stones.  Truly,  it  is  no  easy  matter  to  name  the  crea 
ture  which  answers  such  a  variety  of  purposes  as 
this. 

Reaumur  undertook  the  benevolent  enterprise  of 
civilizing  spiders,  by  way  of  turning  them  into  opera 
tives,  and  thereby  bringing  them  into  better  odor 
with  man  ;  but  his  good  purpose  was  disappointed  ; 
for,  though  they  fully  proved  that  they  were  able  to 
work,  they  had  an  unfortunate  propensity  for  eating 
each  other,  which  proved  to  be  inconsistent  with  the 
virtues  and  charities  of  industrious  and  social  life. 
11 


122  HABITS    OF    INSECTS. 

Their  powers  as  artisans  were  very  respectable ;  but 
no  inducement  could  be  brought  to  bear  upon  them  : 
as  for  working  for  a  living,  it  was  the  last  thing  they 
thought  of;  for  some  of  them  lived  a  year  without 
tasting  food,  or  seeming  in  the  least  exhausted  by 
fasting.  This  indifference  to  common  wants  is  one 
of  the  most  remarkable  things  in  the  character  of  the 
race :  they  never  seem  to  repine  under  any  degree 
of  pain  or  privation.  They  are  probably  mortal ; 
but  it  seems  almost  impossible  to  kill  them.  Bees 
will  live  many  hours  under  water :  caterpillars  are 
frozen  up  through  the  winter,  and  bear  it  with  the 
utmost  composure.  Dr.  Dwight  tells  us  of  a  beetle 
which  was  planed  out  of  a  table  where  he  had  re 
sided,  if  we  remember  rightly,  eighty  years  without 
a  dinner.  Dr.  Arnold  once  had  an  insect,  which, 
after  the  tender-hearted  manner  of  collectors,  was 
pinned  down  to  a  table :  some  other  insects  happen 
ing  to  be  within  reach,  it  proceeded  to  eat  them  with 
as  good  an  appetite  as  ever  it  had  in  its  life.  Some 
beetles  have  been  soaked  in  boiling  water,  without 
being  oppressed  by  the  heat.  Many  insects  have  a 
way  of  pretending  to  be  dead,  as  a  sort  of  hint  to 
man,  that  if,  as  usual,  he  is  disposed  to  kill  them,  he 
may  spare  himself  the  trouble.  If  any  one  is  disposed 
to  ascertain  whether  their  death  is  counterfeited  or 
not,  they  will  not  flinch,  even  when  torn  asunder, 
or  thrown  on  burning  coals.  Some,  even  when  cut 
in  two,  retain  the  easy  indifference  which  they  mani 
fest  on  most  other  occasions.  Many  of  our  readers 
have  probably  seen  ants  cut  from  a  hollow  tree  in 
spring,  and,  though  they  must  have  passed  many 


HABITS    OF    INSECTS. 

months  without  food,  regain  their  cheerfulness  in  the 
sun.  The  ant,  however,  is  torpid  through  the  colder 
parts  of  the  winter.  Our  ants,  though,  like  those  of 
Scripture,  they  are  models  of  industry,  have  not  the 
forethought  to  provide  for  the  winter.  But  it  may 
be,  that  in  warmer  climates  they  have  this  prudent 
habit,  for  which  they  have  been  so  long  held  out  as 
an  example. 

It  is  fair  to  say,  that,  in  cases  where  insects  are 
troublesome,  they  are  sometimes  less  injurious  than 
is  supposed,  and  the  blame  does  not  invariably  fall 
on  the  one  that  deserves  it.  It  is  thought  that  the 
irritating  insects,  particularly  those  that  draw  blood 
from  domestic  animals  in  summer,  are  necessary  to 
their  health,  —  to  save  them  from  the  diseases  which 
would  be  otherwise  occasioned  by  heat  and  repletion. 
In  the  household,  too,  it  is  no  misfortune  that  they 
enforce  the  duty  of  perpetual  cleanliness ;  and  it  is 
well  known,  that,  as  in  the  case  of  moschettoes,  a 
little  attention  may  reduce  the  number  and  incon 
venience  of  their  visitations.  We  are  told,  —  and  it 
may  be  well  to  mention  it  in  this  connection,  —  that 
the  house-fly  does  not,  as  is  commonly  supposed, 
abuse  the  familiarity  which  man  allows  him.  He  is 
harmless  and  friendly  in  his  disposition,  and  more 
over  cannot  bite  if  he  would.  His  proboscis  is  soft 
and  sponge-like,  altogether  unable  to  inflict  a  wound. 
This  is  the  musca  domestica ;  but  there  is  another 
kind  which  exactly  resembles  him  in  person,  except 
in  having  a  sharp  proboscis,  with  which  he  bites  pretty 
seriously ;  he  is  known  by  the  name  of  stomoxys 
calcitrans.  This  is  not  the  only  case  in  which  pub- 


124  HABITS    OF    INSECTS. 

lie    resentment    confounds   the   innocent    with    the 
guilty. 

Our  respect,  if  not  our  regard,  for  insects  will  be 
materially  increased,  if  we  consider  some  evidences 
and  examples  of  their  power.  Happily,  they  have 
not  often  a  common  interest  sufficiently  strong  to 
organize  them  into  parties  or  coalitions,  and,  there 
fore,  do  not  generally  combine  their  forces  to  much 
effect ;  but  there  have  been  cases  in  which  they  have 
made  man  tremble.  We  are  told,  that  in  ancient 
times,  when  Sapor,  king  of  Persia,  was  besieging 
Nisibis,  the  light  artillery  of  an  army  of  moschettoes 
fell  upon  him  with  so  much  fury,  that  he  raised  the 
siege,  and  retreated  with  all  possible  expedition.  But 
anciently  they  had  so  much  faith  in  these  things,  that 
now  we  have  very  little.  Still,  we  have  seen  a  man 
fly  from  the  wrath  of  a  bee  ;  and  we  can  conceive, 
that,  in  this  case,  it  is  possible  that  the  larger  size  of 
man  may  have  been  overborne  by  the  numbers  and 
valor  of  the  moschettoes,  and  thus  the  battle  have 
gone  against  the  strong.  But  there  are  facts,  modern 
and  undoubted,  which  show  how  formidable  insects 
can  be.  A  small  beetle  has  appeared  regularly  in 
the  German  forests :  in  1783,  there  were  more  than 
a  million  and  a  half  of  trees  destroyed  by  them,  and 
more  than  eighty  thousand  were  counted  in  a  single 
tree.  We  are  told  by  aged  men,  that,  many  years 
ago,  an  insect  made  such  ravages  in  the  oaks  of  New 
England,  that  their  case  seemed  as  hopeless  as  that 
of  the  locusts  is  now.  On  the  third  year  of  their 
appearance,  a  heavy  frost  in  May,  which  was  very 
destructive  to  vegetation,  put  a  period  to  the  ravages 


HABITS    OF    INSECTS.  125 

of  the  insect ;  and  it  has  not  made  its  appearance  in 
any  force  again.  Wilson,  the  ornithologist,  as  quoted 
by  Mr.  Rennie,  gives  an  account  of  the  devastation 
made  at  the  South  by  a  small  insect,  which  had 
hardly  spared  ten  trees  in  a  hundred  on  a  tract  of 
two  thousand  acres.  "  Would  it  be  believed,"  he 
says,  "  that  the  larvae  of  an  insect  no  bigger  than  a 
grain  of  rice  should  silently,  and  in  one  season,  des 
troy  some  thousand  acres  of  pine-trees,  many  of  them 
from  two  to  three  feet  in  diameter,  and  a  hundred 
and  fifty  feet  high  ?  In  some  places,  the  whole 
woods,  as  far  as  you  can  see  around  you,  are  dead, 
stripped  of  the  bark,  their  wintry-looking  arms  and 
bare  trunks  bleaching  in  the  sun,  and  tumbling  in 
ruins  before  every  blast."  In  the  last  century,  an 
insect,  formica  saccharivora^  attacked  the  sugar-cane 
plantations  in  the  island  of  Granada,  so  fatally  as  to 
put  an  entire  stop  to  cultivation.  They  covered  the 
roads  and  fields ;  they  killed  rats  and  mice  by  thou 
sands  ;  when  large  fires  were  made  to  consume  them, 
they  crowded  on  till  they  extinguished  them  by  their 
numbers.  The  whole  crop  was  burnt,  and  the  ground 
dug  up,  but  all  to  no  purpose  :  human  power  could 
do  nothing.  A  reward  of  twenty  thousand  pounds 
was  offered  to  any  one  who  would  discover  a 
remedy ;  but  they  were  not  even  checked,  till,  in 
1780,  they  were  destroyed  by  torrents  of  rain.  Dob- 
rizhoffer  gives  a  curious  account  of  the  ants  in  Para 
guay.  He  says,  that  they  make  burrows  in  the  earth 
with  infinite  labor,  under  houses  and  larger  build 
ings,  forming  large  winding  galleries  in  the  ground. 
On  the  approach  of  rain,  as  if  knowing  what  to 


126 


HABITS    OF    INSECTS. 


expect,  the  ants  take  wing  and  fly  away.  The  wa 
ter  rushes  into  their  caverns  ;  and,  undermining  the 
building,  it  falls  in  total  ruin.  He  mentions,  that 
the  ground  on  which  his  church  and  house  were 
built  was  full  of  those  caverns.  For  many  days,  in 
rainy  weather,  the  altar  was  rendered  useless ;  for 
the  ants  flew  out,  and  fell  upon  the  priests  and  every 
thing  around.  Ten  outlets  by  which  they  escaped 
from  the  ground  were  closed ;  but  the  next  day  it 
was  found,  that  they  had  opened  twice  as  many  more. 
One  evening  there  came  a  severe  thunder-storm,  in 
the  midst  of  which  the  Indian  who  had  the  care  of  the 
church  came  to  warn  them  that  its  walls  were  begin 
ning  to  crack  and  lean  :  he  snatched  a  lamp  and  ran 
to  the  place,  but  sunk  up  to  the  shoulders  in  a  pit 
like  a  cellar,  which,  as  soon  as  he  was  drawn  out  of 
it,  he  found  was  the  house  of  the  ants.  As  fast  as 
the  Indians  shovelled  earth  into  it,  they  dug  it  out. 
These  are  their  greater  exploits.  Their  ordinary 
employment  is  to  go  in  an  endless  procession  to  the 
place  where  grain  is  deposited,  and  to  carry  off 
bushels  in  a  day  or  a  moonlight  night.  They  strip 
trees  of  their  leaves,  and  reap  fields  as  clean  as  the 
sickle.  They  will  even  attack  men  when  sleeping, 
and,  unless  they  escape  at  once,  cover  them  with 
their  painful  stings ;  and  the  only  way  of  expelling 
them  is  by  throwing  lighted  sheets  of  paper  upon 
the  swarm.  This  Jesuit  was  no  naturalist :  he  once, 
as  he  tells  us,  pursued  a  skunk,  and  succeeded  in 
getting  more  explicit  information  from  the  animal 
itself  concerning  its  own  value  and  properties  than  he 
could  have  wished,  "  horrendo  odore"  He  does  not 


HABITS    OF    INSECTS. 

enlighten  us  as  to  the  kind  of  ant,  but  says  that 
they  are  the  kings  of  Paraguay  ;  and  we  doubt  whe 
ther  Dr.  Francia  has  been  able  to  subdue  them. 

The  account  of  the  white  ants,  or  termites,  was 
given  to  the  world  by  Smeathman  fifty  years  ago, 
and  subsequent  writers  have  added  little  to  his  infor 
mation  :  the  account,  however,  is  sufficiently  curious 
to  bear  repetition,  since  it  affords  the  most  remark 
able  example  that  can  anywhere  be  found  of  ad 
mirable  instinct,  perseverance,  and  power.  Between 
the  tropics  they  are  the  most  formidable  enemy  man 
has  to  encounter,  destroying  papers,  provisions,  fur 
niture,  and  every  thing,  even  to  house  and  home. 
Metal,  glass,  and  stone,  they  do  not  eat ;  why,  does 
not  appear,  except  it  be  from  a  principle  of  forbear 
ance  equally  touching  and  unexpected.  They  have 
been  known  to  go  up  through  one  leg  of  a  table,  and 
return  down  the  other,  in  the  course  of  a  single 
night.  An  engineer,  in  the  same  space  of  time,  had 
his  clothes,  papers,  and  the  lead  of  pencils,  which 
were  all,  as  he  thought,  secured  in  a  trunk,  eaten  by 
these  destroyers.  When  they  attack  a  house,  they 
eat  away  the  heart  of  the  timber,  leaving  only  the 
outer  shell ;  but,  being  well  aware  that  this  process 
would  soon  bring  the  house  about  their  ears,  they 
fill  the  cavities  as  they  advance  with  clay,  which 
soon  becomes  hard  as  stone.  Mr.  Forbes  remarks, 
that,  in  his  house  at  Tobago,  he  observed  one  day 
that  the  glasses  of  some  pictures  were  dull  and  the 
frames  dusty.  On  attempting  to  wipe  them,  he 
found  that  the  frames  were  plastered  firmly  to  the 
wall  by  this  sort  of  mortar,  the  ants  having  eaten  the 


128  HABITS    OF    INSECTS. 

frames,  back-boards,  and  most  of  the  paper,  leaving 
nothing  but  the  prints  and  the  gilding ;  thinking  per 
haps,  that,  as  the  latter  might  be  of  some  use  to  him, 
and  could  be  of  none  to  them,  it  was  but  just  to 
spare  them.  They  are  as  adroit  in  constructing  their 
own  habitations  as  in  destroying  those  of  man.  They 
raise  hills  ten  or  twelve  feet  high,  a  work  almost  in 
credible  for  a  creature  not  more  than  a  quarter  of  an 
inch  long.  The  royal  chamber  is  in  the  centre,  and 
other  cells  and  galleries  are  gradually  multiplied 
around  it.  The  whole  fabric  is  so  well  constructed 
that  the  wild  bulls  sometimes  make  use  of  them  for 
the  purpose  of  observatories,  and  find  them  strong 
enough  to  bear  their  weight.  If  any  one  attack  their 
habitation,  they  are  at  once  ready  to  do  battle. 
Smith  gives  us  his  opinion  of  their  warlike  power. 
He  says,  that  he  one  day  attempted  to  knock  off  the 
top  of  one  of  the  hills.  The  insects  within,  hearing 
the  noise,  came  out  to  see  what  was  the  matter  ;  upon 
which,  he  took  to  his  heels,  and  ran  away  as  fast  as 
he  could.  They  have  been  known  to  attack  an  Eng 
lish  ship  of  the  line,  and  capture  it  by  boarding.  It 
is  said,  that  the  palace  of  the  English  governor- 
general  in  Calcutta  is  perishing  under  their  opera 
tions.  The  insects,  perhaps,  like  some  other  people, 
have  never  been  able  to  see  distinctly  the  right  by 
which  he  governs  in  their  country  :  in  superstitious 
times,  this  would  be  thought  prophetic  of  the  fate 
which  awaits  the  British  empire  in  India  in  some 
future  day. 

There  are  some  ants  who  have  great  aversion  to 
labor ;  and,  in  order  to  avoid  the  necessity  of  sup- 


HABITS    OF    INSECTS.  129 

porting  themselves,  they  compel  others  to  support 
them.  This,  however,  it  should  be  remarked,  is  not 
in  this  country,  but  in  Europe :  here,  all  know,  that 
ants,  as  well  as  men,  are  born  free  and  equal.  The 
ant  that  carries  on  this  trade,  which  is  regarded  as 
piracy  by  all  civilized  insects,  is  called  the  legionary, 
a  name  descriptive  of  its  military  habits  ;  the  race 
which  it  reduces  to  bondage  is  a  sort  of  negro.  The 
legionaries  march  against  a  settlement  of  the  black 
ants,  take  it  by  storm,  and  carry  away  their  prisoners. 
The  old  ants  they  do  not  touch ;  they  prefer  the 
young,  whom  they  carry  to  their  own  home,  and  then 
train  them  to  menial  services  of  all  descriptions. 
The  natural  consequence  follows.  They  become 
too  indolent  and  proud  to  work,  and  would  starve 
were  it  not  for  their  slaves  ;  thus  creating  the  ne 
cessity  by  which  probably  they  would  justify  the 
practice.  They  do  not  lord  it  over  their  negroes ; 
on  the  contrary,  they  treat  them  with  great  kindness, 
and  even  respect ;  the  slaves  are  on  the  same  footing 
as  our  slaves  were  formerly  in  New  England,  where 
they  used  to  sit  at  table  with  the  farmers,  give  their 
advice  like  oracles,  and  henpeck  their  owners  in  such 
a  manner  that  it  was  a  relief  to  have  them  set  free. 
We  trust  that  no  one  will  use  these  accounts,  now 
so  unquestionably  proved  to  be  true,  to  show  that 
the  relation  of  slavery  is  not  unnatural :  the  argument 
is  no  stronger  than  that  in  favor  of  royal  government 
drawn  from  the  practice  of  the  bees,  and  employed 
by  those  who  overlook  the  fact,  that  a  state  of  civil 
society  may  do  well  enough  for  bees,  without  being 
adequate  to  the  wants  and  improvement  of  man. 


130  HABITS    OF    INSECTS. 

There  are  other  respects '  in  which  these  insects  may 
well  be  quoted  as  an  example.  Thus,  we  are  told 
by  Huber,  that  the  female  ants,  when  they  become 
mothers  of  a  family,  cut  off  their  wings  and  throw 
them  away  ;  thinking,  doubtless,  that  domestic  cares 
and  duties  will  leave  them  no  time  to  fly  round  as 
in  former  days. 

The  motions  of  insects  are  very  curious,  and  some 
of  them  have  occasioned  much  controversy  and 
speculation.  Apodous  larvse  have  no  occasion  to 
take  long  journeys :  their  business  confines  them  at 
home.  They  therefore  make  their  way  slowly,  by 
gliding,  jumping,  or  swimming,  —  ways  sufficiently 
rapid  for  their  purpose.  The  motion  of  serpents,  in 
old  time,  was  accounted  very  mysterious  ;  no  one 
could  tell  how  they  moved  so  rapidly,  without  any 
visible  means  of  walking ;  and  this  was  among  the 
reasons  which  gained  for  them  so  much  reverence  in 
ancient  times.  Sir  Everard  Home  at  last  discovered, 
that  the  points  of  their  ribs  were  curiously  con 
structed  for  the  purpose  ;  and  in  the  same  way  it  is 
probable  that  many  things  of  the  kind,  which  are 
now  incomprehensible,  will  appear  to  be  very  simple. 
Some  move  by  contracting  the  segments  of  their 
bodies ;  others,  like  the  larvae  of  flies,  drag  them 
selves  by  hooks  in  the  head,  an  operation  as  incon 
venient  as  if  a  man  should  drag  himself  on  the 
ground  by  his  chin.  Cheese-maggots  fix  their  man 
dibles  in  places  on  the  table,  and  let  them  go  with 
a  jerk  which  sends  them  to  a  marvellous  distance. 
Caterpillars  climb  very  readily,  but,  for  security, 
carry  a  ladder  of  ropes  as  they  go ;  sticking  it  to 


HABITS    OF    INSECTS.  131 

glass  or  any  substance,  however  hard  and  smooth, 
on  which  they  happen  to  be  ascending.  They  often 
have  occasion  to  descend  from  branch  to  branch  ; 
sometimes  they  are  shaken  by  the  wind  or  thrown 
with  violence  to  the  ground,  in  which  case  they  take 
their  rope  with  them,  and  by  means  of  it  re-ascend 
the  tree.  So,  when  they  travel  round  the  tree,  they 
need  a  clue  to  conduct  them  back  to  the  nest.  When 
they  move,  they  reach  forward  their  necks  as  far  as 
possible,  fasten  the  thread,  then  bring  up  their  body 
and  take  another  step,  a  movement  which  may  be 
seen  in  the  canker-worm  of  our  orchards.  When 
they  descend,  they  have  power  to  contract  the  orifice 
through  which  they  send  out  their  thread,  so  as  to 
let  themselves  gradually  down.  In  climbing  on  the 
line,  the  caterpillar  catches  the  thread  as  high  as  it 
can  reach,  pulls  up  its  body,  grasps  the  thread  with 
its  hindmost  legs,  and  thus  regains  the  tree  from 
which  it  had  fallen.  When  it  has  thus  ascended,  it 
is  found  to  have  a  little  ball  of  thread. 

The  motion  of  flies  was  long  a  subject  of  debate 
and  wonder.  Some  thought  that  they  must  have 
claws ;  others,  that  they  had  glutinous  sponges,  an 
appendage  which  would  not  allow  of  rapid  motion. 
Hooke  was  the  first  to  observe  that  some  curious 
mechanism  must  be  employed  ;  but  what  it  was  he 
could  not  discover.  He  thought  it  might  be  some 
thing  resembling  card-teeth,  set  opposite  to  each 
other,  by  which  they  could  grapple  some  projecting 
places,  such  as  they  might  find  on  the  smoothest  sur 
faces.  Durham  thought  it  not  unlikely  that  they 
stuck,  as  boys  lift  a  lap-stone  by  a  piece  of  wet 


132  HABITS    OF    INSECTS. 

leather  attached  to  the  top ;  an  explanation  which 
amounted  to  nothing  more  than  a  confession  of  igno 
rance  ;  since,  though  it  might  show  how  a  fly  could 
stick  to  a  wall,  the  object  was  to  show  how  they 
move  on  the  wall.  Sir  Everard  Home  at  last  dis 
covered,  that  it  was  done  by  producing  a  vacuum 
between  the  surface  on  which  they  walk  and  parts 
of  the  foot  constructed  for  that  purpose.  There  are 
two  suckers  connected  with  the  last  joint  of  the 
tarsus,  and  a  narrow  neck  which  moves  in  all  direc 
tions,  under  the  root  of  each  claw.  These  suckers 
consist  of  a  contractile  membrane,  which  adapts 
itself  to  any  surface.  Had  it  been  possible  for  the 
fly  to  communicate  with  men,  the  air-pump  of  Gue- 
ricke,  and  possibly  our  countryman  Dr.  Prince's  im 
provement  upon  it,  might  have  been  known  to  the 
world  much  sooner  after  it  was  created.  There  is  a 
water-spider,  also,  which  invented  the  diving-bell, 
and  has  used  it  to  more  purpose  than  men.  It  spins 
a  shell  of  closely  woven  white  silk,  in  the  form  of 
half  a  pigeon's  egg,  which  forms  the  diving-bell. 
This  is  sometimes  under,  sometimes  partly  above, 
the  surface  of  the  water,  and  is  lashed  by  threads  to 
whatever  happens  to  be  near.  It  is  closed  all  round, 
except  an  opening  below.  By  this  contrivance  the 
spider  carries  air  with  it  down  to  its  submarine  nest. 
To  complete  the  catalogue  of  mathematical  instru 
ments,  it  is  well  known,  that  the  gossamer  spider 
ascends  high  into  the  air  with  its  light  thread,  on  the 
principle  of  the  balloon. 

The  movement  of  spiders  in  the  air  has  always 
been  regarded  as  a  difficult  matter  to  explain.     Dr. 


HABITS    OF    INSECTS.  133 

Lister,  the  celebrated  English  naturalist,  whose  re 
searches  into  the  habits  of  spiders  discovered  almost 
all  that  is  now  known,  believed  that  they  had  the 
power  of  shooting  out  threads  in  the  direction  in 
which  they  wished  to  go.  Kirby  also  used  the  same 
language,  speaking  of  the  spider  "  shooting  out  his 
threads,"  not  from  carelessness  of  expression,  but 
evidently  meaning  to  be  literally  understood.  White, 
of  Selborne,  gives  the  same  account  of  the  spider. 
This  certainly  is  a  great  weight  of  authority  in  favor 
of  this  power  in  the  spider ;  but  it  is  so  unlike  every 
thing  with  which  we  are  acquainted,  that  we  are  na 
turally  suspicious  of  some  mistake  ;  and  we  are  glad 
to  see  that  Mr.  Rennie  will  not  allow  that  the  spider 
has  a  gift  so  much  beyond  the  usual  order  of  nature. 
There  are  those  of  no  small  pretensions  as  naturalists, 
who  believe  that  the  floating  of  the  spider's  thread  is 
electrical,  and  maintain  that  it  can  dart  its  thread  in 
the  wind's  eye.  Whoever  hastily  observes  them  will 
be  of  the  same  opinion,  with  respect  to  the  gossamer 
spider  and  some  others.  Within  a  few  days,  stand 
ing  in  a  shed,  we  saw  a  line  of  very  small  spiders 
coming  down  perpendicularly  from  the  wall,  each 
being  apparently  attached  to  a  large  thread  by  a 
smaller  thread  of  its  own.  There  were  perhaps 
a  hundred  in  the  string.  After  having  descended 
about  eight  or  ten  feet,  the  lowest  came  opposite  to 
a  door,  where  a  light  air  was  blowing  in,  and  turned 
off  in  a  direction  almost  horizontal  towards  the  door. 
On  looking  very  closely,  we  could  discover  no  line 
beyond  the  leading  spider ;  but,  on  striking  the  hand 
between  him  and  the  wall,  he  immediately  fell  into 

12 


134  HABITS    OF    INSECTS. 

the  perpendicular  again.  It  is  difficult  to  believe, 
that  spiders  have  sufficient  projectile  force  to  dart 
out  a  thread  of  such  a  material  to  any  considerable 
distance ;  and  the  general  opinion  now  is,  that  they 
depend  wholly  upon  the  lightness  of  their  thread  and 
the  agitation  of  the  air. 

In  the  "  Insect  Miscellanies,"  Mr.  Rennie  discusses 
some  curious  subjects  connected  with  insects,  which 
were  not  embraced  in  the  design  of  his  former 
works.  One  is  the  manner  in  which  insects  are 
guided  in  their  flight,  not  so  much  by  their  sight,  as 
by  the  delicate  nerves  of  their  wings  ;  in  this  power 
resembling  bats,  which,  as  is  proved  by  some  humane 
experiments,  can  find  their  way  as  well  without  eyes 
as  with  them.  Another  is  the  sensibility  of  insects 
to  changes  of  temperature.  Mr.  Rennie  does  not 
seem  to  think  very  highly  of  their  observations  of  the 
weather.  We  had  supposed  that  they  equalled  the 
most  nervous  invalid  in  their  sensibility.  Ants  are 
known  to  secure  their  eggs  against  the  rain ;  and 
there  seems  to  be  no  reason  why  spiders  should  not 
be  equally  accurate  observers.  There  are  flowers 
which  foretell  such  changes ;  and,  if  such  presages 
are  necessary  to  the  existence  of  the  insect,  doubtless 
their  instinct  supplies  them.  They  probably  are  not 
much  acquainted  with  causes  and  effects ;  but  in 
stinct  is  the  direct  agency  of  a  power  which  is  not 
limited  in  its  capacities.  It  is  no  acquaintance  with 
the  principles  which  govern  the  ordnance  department, 
which  induces  the  insect  called  the  bombardier  to 
discharge  its  artillery  upon  any  insect  which  pursues 
it :  it  is  frequently  chased  by  other  insects,  and, 


HABITS    OF    INSECTS.  135 

instead  of  retreating,  it  waits  till  they  come  within 
point-blank  shot,  and  then  discharges  its  field-piece 
with  a  noise  and  smoke  which  to  insects  are  truly 
alarming.  In  this  way  it  will  fire  as  many  as  twenty 
rounds;  and,  when  its  ammunition  is  exhausted,  if 
the  pursuer  is  not  repelled,  the  gunner  will  retreat  to 
a  shelter  ;  retiring,  not  with  alarm,  but  with  a  very 
imposing  front,  like  the  Americans  at  Bunker  Hill. 

Mr.  Rennie  adds  to  the  curious  particulars  already 
known,  concerning  the  manner  in  which  grasshoppers 
produce  and  increase  their  sound  :  they  apply  the 
hind  shank  to  the  thigh,  rubbing  it  smartly  against 
the  wing-case,  and  alternately  the  right  and  left  legs. 
This  fiddling,  however,  would  not  be  heard  at  any 
great  distance,  were  it  not  for  a  sort  of  drum  at  their 
side,  which  is  formed  with  membranes  suited  to  in 
crease  and  echo  the  sound.  The  instrument  upon 
which  the  male  cricket  plays  —  for,  unlike  the  usual 
order  of  nature,  the  female  is  silent  —  is  a  pair  of 
rough  strings  in  the  wing-cases,  which  they  rub 
against  each  other.  White,  of  Selborne,  endeavored 
to  naturalize  field-crickets  near  his  house,  and  Mr. 
Rennie  to  introduce  house-crickets  to  his  hearth : 
both  were  unsuccessful,  the  insects  probably  having 
doubts  whether  their  first  welcome  would  ripen  into 
lasting  hospitality. 

These  are  certainly  very  interesting  works,  and  do 
credit  to  the  "  Library  of  Entertaining  Knowledge," 
of  which  they  form  a  part,  as  well  as  to  the  ability  of 
Mr.  Rennie  as  a  naturalist  and  a  Avriter.  We  do 
not  expect  sudden  nor  striking  effects  from  thus  mul 
tiplying  works  of  popular  instruction  ;  but,  when  they 


136  HABITS    OF    INSECTS. 

are  sown  broad-cast,  as  they  are  in  the  present  day, 
some  will  take  root,  and  produce  harvests  which  the 
Avorld  does  not  know.  To  supply  means  of  happi 
ness  ;  to  inspire  a  taste  and  talent  for  observation ; 
to  teach  men  to  pass  through  the  world,  not  as  stran 
gers,  but  as  interested  to  know  every  thing  about 
them,  though  it  may  not  be  so  splendid  a  service  as 
many  other  scientific  exertions,  is  certainly  the  one 
which  will  give  the  philosopher  his  most  enviable  and 
enduring  fame. 


137 


BIOGRAPHY   OF   BIRDS. 


Ornithological  Biography,  or  an  Account  of  the  Habits  of  the 
Birds  of  America;  accompanied  by  Descriptions  of  the  Objects 
represented  in  the  Work  entitled  the  Birds  of  America,  inter 
spersed  with  Delineations  of  American  Scenery  and  Manners. 
By  JOHN  JAMES  AUDUBON,  F.R.SS.  L.  and  E.  &c.  Philadel 
phia,  1831. 

MANY  years  ago,  the  first  wit  of  his  day,  representing 
the  character  and  habits  of  John  Bull,  stated  that, 
although  he  was  peaceable  in  his  disposition,  and 
fully  convinced  of  the  fact  that  whosoever  goeth  to 
war  must  do  it  at  his  own  charges,  he  did  never 
theless,  if  he  heard  the  sound  of  a  fray,  however 
distant,  rise  from  his  warm  bed  at  night,  put  on  such 
clothing  as  came  to  hand,  grasp  his  cudgel,  and  go 
forth  to  the  scene  of  action,  where  he  generally  re 
ceived  a  battering  which  would  have  cracked  a 
crown  less  substantial.  When  this  ceremony  was 
over,  the  parties  repaired  to  a  tavern,  where  John, 
in  consideration  of  receiving  many  praises  for  his 
valor,  closed  the  concern  by  paying  the  bill,  and 
departed  extremely  well  satisfied  with  his  own  ex 
ploits.  This  account,  though  meant  for  an  individ 
ual,  describes  to  the  life  almost  every  war  in  which 
any  country  has  been  engaged  for  the  last  two  cen- 

12* 


138  BIOGRAPHY    OF    BIRDS. 

turies ;  and  nations  are  growing  so  well  persuaded  of 
this,  that  the  great  body  of  the  human  race,  who 
were  formerly  too  happy  to  be  permitted  to  die  for 
the  glory  of  one  or  two,  now  testify  a  strong  reluct 
ance  to  making  themselves  food  for  powder,  without 
strong  reasons  for  such  a  proceeding.  This  grand 
discovery  on  the  part  of  the  multitude,  however 
auspicious  to  themselves,  is  exceedingly  inconve 
nient  to  those  who  are  ambitious  of  fame.  Happily 
other  paths  to  distinction  are  still  open,  which  are 
trodden  with  a  zeal  and  spirit  as  resolute,  and  some 
what  more  rational  than  ever  was  found  in  the 
bloodshod  march  of  glory.  Some  esteem  it  a  privi 
lege  to  be  frozen  up  during  three  quarters  of  the 
year,  in  the  dead  night-calm  of  a  polar  sea ;  others 
spring  forward  to  seize  the  fortunate  chance  of  leav 
ing  their  bones  whitening  on  the  sands,  beneath  the 
red  heat  of  an  African  sun.  Some  are  enchanted 
with  the  idea  of  tracing  the  course  of  rivers,  which, 
according  to  the  best  authorities,  have  neither  begin 
ning  nor  end ;  others  can  die  contented  when  they 
have  scaled  the  tops  of  mountains,  where  they  stand 
petrified  with  cold,  several  inches  higher  than  man 
ever  stood  before.  Now,  all  this  restless  energy, 
withdrawn  from  the  fields  of  war,  is  like  the  electric 
tluid,  harmless  and  useful  when  diffused  among  the 
elements  of  nature,  though  so  disastrous  when  con 
centrated  in  the  thunder-cloud. 

There  are  many  men  in  the  world  sufficiently  intel 
lectual  in  their  tastes,  but  too  active  in  their  habits  to 
submit  to  quiet,  literary  labor.  There  are  some 
whose  minds  can  never  exert  themselves,  except 


BIOGRAPHY    OF    BIRDS.  139 

when  their  frame  is  in  action ;  and,  doubtless,  that 
employment  is  best  suited  to  our  nature,  which 
engages  at  the  same  time  the  physical  and  intellec 
tual  powers.  The  pursuit  in  which  the  author  of  the 
work  before  us  is  of  late  so  honorably  distinguished 
is  of  this  description  :  it  combines  within  itself  many 
circumstances  which  give  it  attraction ;  it  requires 
the  self-complacent  skill  of  a  sportsman,  and  the  wild 
romance  of  an  adventurer ;  it  opens  a  field  for  the 
beautiful  powers  of  an  artist,  and  the  fine  discrimina 
tion  of  a  man  of  taste  ;  it  adds  the  dignity  of  science 
to  the  exciting  consciousness  of  danger.  We  do  not 
wonder  in  the  least,  that  the  heart  of  such  a  man  is 
bound  up  in  it,  nor  that  he  should  be  willing  to  sac 
rifice  the  ordinary  comforts  of  life  in  his  devotion  to 
a  pursuit  which  must  be  a  happy  one,  because  it 
requires  the  full  and  constant  exertion  of  all  his 
powers ;  and  in  which,  if  he  need  any  thing  more 
than  his  own  feeling  to  sustain  him  under  his  various 
difficulties  and  disappointments,  he  is  sure  to  be  fol 
lowed,  sooner  or  later,  by  the  general  applause  of 
the  world.  But,  in  truth,  he  needs  nothing  more  than 
the  glowing  inspiration  within;  though  many  —  wise 
persons  too  —  would  be  as  sorely  puzzled  to  under 
stand  this  self-supporting  principle,  as  the  Mississippi 
boatmen  were  to  comprehend  the  miracle  of  Wilson's 
supporting  life  without  whiskey. 

In  the  original  constitution  of  things,  it  is  wisely 
ordered,  that  happiness  shall  be  found  everywhere 
about  us.  We  do  not  need  to  have  a  rock  smitten, 
to  supply  this  thirst  of  the  soul.  It  is  not  a  distant 
good  ;  it  exists  in  every  thing  above,  around  us,  and 


140  BIOGRAPHY    OF    BIRDS. 

beneath  our  feet ;  and  all  we  want  is  an  eye  to  dis 
cern,  and  a  heart  to  feel  it.  Let  any  one  fix  his 
attention  on  a  moral  truth,  and  it  spreads  out  and 
enlarges  its  dimensions  beneath  his  view,  till  what 
seemed  at  first  as  barren'a  proposition  as  words  could 
express  appears  like  an  interesting  and  glorious  truth, 
momentous  in  its  bearing  on  the  destinies  of  men. 
And  so  it  is  with  every  material  thing :  let  the  mind 
be  intently  fixed  upon  it,  and  hold  it  in  the  light  of 
science,  and  it  gradually  unfolds  new  wonders.  The 
flower  grows  even  more  beautiful  than  when  it  first 
opened  its  golden  urn,  and  breathed  its  incense  on 
the  morning  air  :  the  tree,  which  was  before  thought 
of  only  as  a  thing  to  be  cut  down  and  cast  into  the 
fire,  becomes  majestic,  as  it  holds  its  broad  shield 
before  the  summer  sun,  or  when  it  stands  like  a  ship, 
with  its  sails  furled  and  all  made  fast  about  it,  in 
preparation  for  the  winter  storm.  All  things  in 
nature  inspire  in  us  a  new  feeling ;  and  we  begin  to 
consider  their  fate  and  fortunes,  their  birth  and  decay, 
as  resembling  those  of  man.  The  truth  is,  that  igno 
rance  and  indifference  are  almost  the  same  ;  and  we 
are  sure  to  grow  interested  as  fast  as  our  knowledge 
extends,  in  any  subject  whatever.  This  explains 
how  men  of  great  ability  are  so  engaged  in  what 
are  often  ignorantly  regarded  as  little  things ;  how 
they  can  watch,  with  the  gaze  of  a  lover,  to  catch 
the  glance  of  the  small  bird's  wing,  or  listen  to  its 
song,  as  if  it  were  the  breath  of  a  soul ;  how  the 
world  and  every  thing  in  it  looks  so  spiritually  bright 
to  them,  when  to  others  the  bird  is  but  a  flying  ani 
mal,  and  the  flower  only  the  covering  of  a  clod.  It 


BIOGRAPHY    OF    BIRDS.  141 

explains  many  things  which  are  perfect  mysteries  to 
vulgar  minds.  For  example,  Wilson  tells  a  friend, 
in  one  of  his  letters,  that  he  sat  down  one  evening  to 
draw  a  mouse,  and  all  the  while  the  pantings  of  its 
little  heart  showed  it  to  be  in  an  agony  of  fear.  He 
had  intended  to  kill  it ;  but,  happening  to  spill  a  few 
drops  of  water  where  it  was  tied,  it  lapped  them  up 
eagerly,  and  looked  up  in  his  face  with  such  an 
expression  of  supplicating  terror,  that  it  overcame 
his  resolution,  and  he  let  it  go.  Here,  we  think,  we 
hear  some  voice  exclaiming,  "  The  man  was  a  fool ; " 
but  we  recommend  to  the  speaker  to  wait  awhile, 
seeing  there  may  be  different  opinions  respecting  the 
party  to  which  that  generic  name  belongs. 

A  devoted  attachment,  like  this,  to  the  works  of 
nature  is  an  evidence  of  delicacy  and  refinement ; 
and  we  have  cited  this  incident  to  show  that  the 
common  prejudice  which  regards  it  as  inconsistent 
with  energy  of  thought  and  action  is  entirely  un 
founded  ;  for,  assuredly,  the  radiant  files  of  war  can 
show  no  spirits  more  resolute  than  those  of  the  men 
who  leave  the  abodes  of  civilized  life,  launch  their 
canoes  on  unbroken  waters,  depend  on  their  rifle  for 
subsistence,  keep  on  their  solitary  march  till  the  bird 
has  sung  his  evening  hymn,  and  have  no  society 
at  night  but  the  beating  sound  of  their  fire.  Nei 
ther  is  it  inconsistent  with  a  strict  regard  to  all  the 
duties  of  life  :  on  the  contrary,  it  is  the  part  of  duty 
to  draw  happiness  from  these  sources,  which,  in  all 
the  changes  and  misfortunes  of  life,  will  never  cease 
to  flow.  The  poet  Gray,  one  of  the  most  intellec 
tual  and  fastidious  of  men,  says,  "  Happy  they  who 


142  BIOGRAPHY    OF    BIRDS. 

can  create  a  rose-tree,  or  erect  a  honey-suckle; 
who  can  watch  the  brood  of  a  hen,  or  a  fleet  of  their 
own  ducklings  as  they  sail  upon  the  water."  The 
Avords  are  true  as  inspiration  ;  and  we  recommend 
them  to  our  readers,  of  whom  a  due  proportion, 
no  doubt,  are  miserable.  They  will  learn  from 
them  what  is  of  great  importance  to  know  in  such 
calculations,  —  that  their  unhappiness  is  owing,  not 
to  the  want  of  pleasures,  but  to  their  not  understand 
ing  how  to  select  and  enjoy  those  which  they  pos 
sess,  or,  we  may  say,  those  which  all  possess,  since 
they  are  given  freely  and  impartially  to  all,  so  that 
no  avarice  can  monopolize  them,  and  no  oppression 
take  them  away.  This  being  the  case,  those  who 
point  out  to  us  the  extent  and  variety  of  such  re 
sources,  and  show  by  their  own  example  how  full, 
rich,  and  inspiring  they  are,  deserve  to  be  recorded 
among  the  benefactors  of  mankind.  No  greater 
treasures  can  be  offered  to  human  desire  than  enjoy 
ments  like  these,  which  at  once  exercise  the  mind 
and  improve  the  heart,  repel  the  influence  of  sordid 
passions,  and  encourage  the  suggestions  of  humanity, 
virtue,  and  religion.  Men  do  well  to  secure  them, 
even  if,  in  order  to  do  it,  they  must  sacrifice  some 
other  objects  of  ambition ;  for  their  drafts  upon  the 
applause  of  future  ages  may  be  dishonored,  and  dis 
appoint  them  of  renown.  The  gold  which  they  have 
collected,  perhaps  by  such  means  that  they  had  bet 
ter  drunk  it  melted  from  the  crucible,  may  fall  from 
their  grasp  as  the  fires  consume  and  the  floods  drown  : 
but  these  pleasures  are  always  within  their  reach  ; 
they  do  not  lose  their  charm  in  the  hours  of  anxiety 


BIOGRAPHY    OF    BIRDS.  143 

and  Borrow  ;  and  those  who  possess  them  have  the 
satisfaction  of  knowing,  that  they  will  last  as  long  as 
the  soul. 

But  we  have  little  hope  of  convincing  men  of  the 
truth  of  these  things :  it  is  less  hopeless  to  undertake 
to  show  them  what  is  for  the  interest  of  others  than 
what  is  for  their  own.  We  can  therefore  state  with 
confidence  to  the  rich,  that  it  would  be  much  for  the 
interest  of  their  children,  of  the  society  in  which  they 
live,  and  of  science  and  literature  in  general,  if  they 
would  buy  this  work  with  its  magnificent  illustra 
tions.  We  are  not  so  visionary  as  to  expect  that 
they  will  all  read  it  themselves :  wealth  and  taste  do 
not  invariably  go  together.  We  recommend  it  as  a 
favor  to  others,  and  at  the  same  time  would  suggest, 
that  such  acts  of  munificence  come  with  much  more 
grace  from  the  living  hand  than  from  the  last  will ; 
for  men  are  seldom  grateful  to  those  who  do  not 
give  till  they  can  keep  no  longer.  They  ascribe 
whatever  they  receive  in  this  way  to  the  charity  of 
death,  and  not  of  the  dead.  When  a  man  has  given 

>  O 

up  other  employments  and  other  prospects,  to  devote 
himself  to  a  pursuit  like  this  ;  when  he  has  spent  days 
of  toil  and  nights  of  danger  to  accomplish  a  purpose 
which  he  feels  entitles  him  to  encouragement  and 
applause,  it  is  not  refreshing  to  be  told,  that  he  may 
spread  out  his  treasures  on  the  pages  of  a  magazine, 
for  the  recompense  of  a  dollar  an  acre ;  or  that  he 
may  have  the  privilege  of  publishing,  if  he  will  ad 
vance  a  few  thousands.  He  has  no  resource  in  such 
a  case,  except  to  give  up  the  favorite  wish  and  long 
devotion  of  his  heart  and  life,  or  to  range  through 


144  BIOGRAPHY    OF    BIRDS. 

the  United  States,  as  Wilson  did,  to  find  two  hun 
dred  subscribers  among  ten  million  people  ;  an  em 
ployment  hopeless  and  humiliating  enough  to  break 
a  tin  pedlar's  heart.  The  great  work  of  Mr.  Audu- 
bon  is  such  an  one  as  could  not  probably,  under  any 
circumstances,  have  been  published  in  this  country ; 
and  we  rejoice  that  he  was  so  kindly  encouraged  and 
welcomed  in  the  home  of  our  fathers.  But,  since 
much  talent  is  likely  to  be  turned  in  this  direction, 
of  which  the  benefits  may  be  lost  for  want  of  just 
rewards,  we  wish  it  were  possible  to  hold  out  induce 
ments  large  enough  to  satisfy  reasonable  expectations, 
and  to  reflect  honor  on  our  great  and  growing  coun 
try.  We  regret  to  see,  that  Mr.  Nuttall,  in  his  val 
uable  work  on  the  birds  of  the  United  States,  which 
will  demand  a  more  extended  notice  when  it  is 
completed,  was  compelled  to  restrict  himself  in  the 
number  of  his  illustrations  by  the  expense  of  obtain 
ing  them,  fearing  lest  an  increased  price  of  the  work 
would  interfere  with  its  circulation.  We  hope  that 
no  apprehension  of  this  kind  will  prevent  his  giving 
colored  illustrations  of  every  subject  he  describes,  in 
the  larger  work  which  he  proposes  to  publish  at  a 
future  time.  Without  being  very  costly  or  elegant, 
they  may  be  exact  enough  to  answer  the  purpose 
of  the  reader,  if  not  to  satisfy  the  delicate  taste  of 
the  connoisseur.  Not  one  in  a  hundred  of  those 
who  are  really  interested  in  these  subjects  know  a 
bird,  an  insect,  or  a  flower,  by  its  scientific  distinc 
tions  ;  and  a  work  of  the  kind  must  be  suited  to 
all  who  have  any  taste  for  the  study,  as  well  as 
those  who  aim  at  a  thorough  knowledge  of  it,  or 


BIOGRAPHY    OF    BIRDS.  145 

it  can  have  no  great  circulation  in  a  country  like 
ours. 

It  is  surprising  to  see  how  few  of  all  the  birds 
which  annually  visit  us  are  known  by  name,  and 
how  little  their  habits  are  understood.  Most  natives 
of  New  England  are  acquainted  with  the  bluejay, 
one  of  the  earliest  of  our  visitors,  who  comes  sound 
ing  his  penny  trumpet  as  a  herald  of  the  spring,  and 
either  amuses  himself  by  playing  pranks  upon  other 
more  serious  birds,  or  entertains  them  by  acting,  to 
the  life,  the  part  of  an  angry  Frenchman.  Every 
miller  and  vagrant  fisherman  knows  the  belted  king 
fisher,  who  sits  for  hours  upon  his  favorite  dead 
branch,  looking  with  his  calm,  bright  eye  to  the 
lowest  depth  of  the  waters.  The  robin  also  makes 
himself  welcome,  not  only  by  the  tradition  of  the 
kindness  shown  by  his  European  relation  to  the  chil 
dren  in  the  wood,  but  by  his  hearty  whistle,  lifted 
up  as  if  he  knew  that  all  would  be  thankful  to  hear 
that  the  winter  is  over  and  gone,  and  his  familiarity 
with  man,  whereby  he  shows  his  belief,  that  they 
who  least  deserve  confidence  are  sometimes  made 
better  by  being  trusted.  The  solemn  crow,  who  is 
willing  to  repose  the  same  confidence  in  man,  taking 
only  the  additional  precaution  of  keeping  out  of  his 
reach  ;  the  quizzical  bobolink,  or  ricebunting,  who 
tells  man,  in  so  many  words,  that  he  cares  nothing 
about  him,  —  not  he ;  the  swallow,  that  takes  his 
quarters  in  our  barns,  or  the  one  that  passes  up  and 
down  our  chimneys  with  a  noise  like  thunder ;  the 
purple  martin,  that  offers  to  pay  his  house-rent  by 
keeping  insects  from  our  gardens ;  the  snow-bird, 
13 


146  BIOGRAPHY    OF    BIRDS. 

that  comes  riding  from  the  arctic  circle  upon  the  win 
ter  storm ;  and  the  baltimore,  or  golden-robin,  that 
glances  like  a  flame  of  fire  through  the  green  caverns 
of  foliage,  —  will  almost  complete  the  list  of  those 
which  are  familiarly  known  to  man. 

We  say  familiarly  known,  because  there  are  many 
which  people  in  general  think  they  know,  and  which 
are  yet  sadly  misrepresented.  The  farmer,  for  ex 
ample,  accuses  the  woodpecker  of  boring  his  trees, 
when  he  only  enlarges  with  his  bill  the  hole  which 
the  grub  had  made,  and,  darting  in  his  long  arrowy 
tongue,  puts  a  stop  to  its  mining  for  ever.  Many  a 
poor  bird,  in  like  manner,  after  having  slain  his  thou 
sands  of  insects  which  were  laying  waste  the  orchard 
and  the  garden,  is  sentenced  to  death  as  guilty  of 
the  very  offences  which  he  has  been  laboriously  pre 
venting.  There  are  few  scenes  in  which  justice  is 
so  completely  reversed  as  when  we  see  some  idle 
young  knave  permitted  to  go  forth  with  a  fowling- 
piece  to  murder  creatures,  of  which  it  is  not  too 
much  to  say,  that  they  have  done  more  good  in  the 
world  (it  is  a  bold  speech,  wre  confess)  than  ever  he 
will  do  evil,  and  applauded  for  his  exploits  by  his 
old  father,  who,  in  rejoicing  ignorance,  congratulates 
himself  on  having  a  son  so  efficient  and  useful.  We 
hear  complaints  annually  from  all  parts  of  the  United 
States,  that  some  insect  or  another  is  destroying  the 
fruit,  and  proposing  to  offer  a  large  reward  to  any 
one  who  will  discover  a  remedy.  Lest  we  should 
be  anticipated  in  our  design,  we  would  say  that  we 
mean  to  contend  for  that  prize,  and  to  secure  the 
orchards  and  gardens  by  protecting  the  birds,  and 


BIOGRAPHY    OF    BIRDS.  147 

offering  a  handsome  bounty  for  the  ears  of  those 
who  shoot  them.  Kami  tells  us,  that  the  planters  in 
Virginia  succeeded  at  last,  by  legislative  enactment, 
in  exterminating  the  little  crow,  and  exulted  much 
on  the  occasion.  But  it  was  not  long  before  their 
triumph  was  changed  to  mourning.  They  found 
that  the  acts  had  been  passed  for  the  benefit  of 
insects,  not  their  own ;  and  they  would  gladly  have 
offered  a  larger  bounty  to  bring  back  the  persecuted 
birds.  We  shall  not  plead  for  the  crow,  who  is  fully 
able  to  take  care  of  himself ;  but  we  must  file  a  pro 
test  against  the  practice  of  destroying  the  birds  of 
the  garden ;  for,  besides  depriving  us  of  the  beauty 
of  their  appearance  and  the  music  of  their  song,  it 
lets  in  a  flood  of  insects,  whose  numbers  the  birds 
were  commissioned  to  keep  down ;  and  wrhen  we 
find  this  evil  growing  year  by  year,  as  most  assu 
redly  it  will,  there  will  be  little  consolation  in  reflect 
ing  that  we  have  brought  it  upon  ourselves. 

The  song  of  birds  is  not  much  better  known  than 
their  habits  and  persons.  We  have  been  assured  by 
several  individuals,  that  they  have  heard  the  mocking 
bird  in  Massachusetts  ;  and,  in  some  instances,  we 
thought  it  probable  from  their  description  that  they 
Avere  correct,  though  this  bird  is  seldom  found  in  so 
high  a  latitude  ;  but,  in  other  cases,  we  were  con 
vinced  that  they  had  been  listening  to  the  perform 
ance  of  the  cat-bird.  Most  persons  would  as  soon 
expect  to  hear  the  cat  herself  uplifting  her  voice  in 
melody  ;  but  the  powers  of  this  bird  are  by  no  means 
confined  to  the  mew  and  squeal.  Though  sadly 
afraid  of  man,  and  with  sufficient  reason,  he  is  a 


148  BIOGRAPHY    OF    BIRDS. 

fine  singer,  a  great  wag,  and  in  mimicry  is  not  far 
inferior  to  the  mocking-bird  ;  but  he  has  so  little 
peace  of  mind  that  he  seldom  dares  to  let  us  know 
where  he  is  by  his  note,  till  after  the  fall  of  even 
ing  or  before  the  dawn.  We  venture  to  predict, 
that,  in  the  month  of  May,  strangers  will  hear  from 
the  windows  of  the  Tremont  House  a  delicious  note 
that  seems  to  proceed  from  some  singing  leaf  of 
the  topmost  tree  in  that  mall  which  bore  the  once- 
distinguished  name  of  Paddock,  —  a  hero  who  has 
almost  perished  from  the  traditions  of  narrative  old 
age.  He  will  hear  it  rising  high  above  the  hack- 
man's  whistle  and  the  rattling  wheel.  Few  will  be 
able  to  tell  him  more  than  that  the  sound  proceeds 
from  a  bird  ;  while  the  warbler,  and  his  brother  of 
the  red  eye,  will  sing  on,  in  happy  indifference  both 
to  the  attention  and  neglect  of  man.  But  their  favors 
will  not  be  confined  to  the  city  :  they  Avill  be  heard 
in  the  country  from  the  broad  arm  of  the  elm  that 
overhangs  the  cottage  door,  singing  on  at  morning, 
noon,  and  night,  with  a  taste  and  science  that  fill 
other  listening  birds  with  admiration  and  despair. 
There  is  another  bird,  well  known  by  the  name  of 
the  brown  thrasher,  whose  musical  talent  is  but  little 
understood.  It  is  said  that  he  is  called  the  French 
mocking-bird  at  the  South ;  and  we  have  heard  that 
name  given  to  him  here,  not  on  account  of  his  imita 
tions,  but  the  extent  and  variety  of  his  powers.  He 
has  no  ambition  to  display  himself  to  the  sight  of 
man  ;  but  he  excites  the  astonishment  of  all  who  hear 
him,  by  the  luxurious  fulness  of  his  song.  How 
many  have  ever  seen  the  crimson  linnet,  as  he  sits 


BIOGRAPHY    OF    BIRDS. 


149 


playing  the  flute  on  the  very  summit  of  the  loftiest 
tree,  sometimes  sinking  his  strain  almost  to  silence, 
then  pouring  it  out  in  bursts  of  rapture  ?  It  is  com 
mon  to  say,  that  beauty  of  plumage  and  sweetness 
of  song  are  not  found  together.  It  may  be  true, 
that  they  are  seldom  united  in  the  highest  perfection  ; 
but  every  child  knows,  that  the  clear  piping  of  the 
baltimore,  and  the  varied  whistle  of  the  goldfinch, 
are  as  pleasant  to  the  ear  as  their  fine  colors  are  to 
the  eye  ;  and  the  brilliant  red  bird,  which  sometimes 
visits  New  England,  is  not.  more  distinguished  for 
the  bright  scarlet  of  his  dress  than  for  the  sweet  and 
bold  expression  of  his  song. 

There  is  so  much  that  inspires  curiosity  about  the 
various  tribes  of  birds,  that  it  is  difficult  to  account 
for  this  contented  ignorance  of  their  ways,  in  which 
so  many  spend  their  lives.  When  the  snows  retreat 
to  the  mountains,  the  friendly  voice  of  the  robin, 
telling  us  that  he  is  glad  to  see  us  all  again,  has  a 
magical  effect  upon  every  one  :  it  calls  the  heart  and 
memory  into  action,  and  reminds  us  of  all  we  love 
to  remember.  Here  he  is  again ;  but  he  cannot  tell 
us  where  he  has  been,  what  regions  he  has  traversed, 
nor  what  invisible  hand  pointed  out  his  path  in  the 
sky.  If  this  inquiry  interest  us,  we  begin  to  look 
about  us  in  the  closing  year  :  we  see,  that,  when  the 
leaf  grows  red,  the  birds  are  disappearing ;  some 
assembling  in  solemn  deliberation,  to  make  arrange 
ments  for  the  purpose ;  others  taking  French  leave, 
as  it  is  unfitly  called,  without  ceremony  or  fare 
well.  Some,  like  the  great  white  owl,  delight  in  the 
prospect  of  moonlight  gleaming  on  the  snowy  plains 

13* 


1-50  BIOGRAPHY    OF    BIRDS. 

of  the  north,  where  all  is  still  as  death  ;  others,  like 
the  snowbunting,  rejoice  to  accompany  the  storm  as 
it  rushes  down  from  the  frozen  lakes  and  oceans. 
But  most  birds  secure  a  mild  climate  and  perpetual 
verdure,  by  retreating  from  the  wintry  tempests  with 
a  fleetness  greater  than  its  own.  Some,  like  the  saga 
cious  crow  and  the  light  swallow,  which  was  formerly 
thought  to  drown  itself  by  way  of  escaping  the  win 
ter,  fly  only  by  day  ;  while  others,  like  travellers  in 
the  desert,  rest  by  day,  and  go  on  their  way  by  night. 
It  is  curious  to  observe  the  order  in  which  some 
arrange  themselves.  The  wild  geese,  for  example, 
whose  word  of  command  we  so  often  hear  above  us 
in  the  stillness  of  night,  form  two  files,  which  meet  in 
a  sharp  angle  at  the  head,  where  the  leader  cleaves 
the  air  and  guides  the  course  of  the  procession ; 
giving  up  his  place,  when  he  is  weary,  to  the  next  in 
order.  All  similar  caravans  move  on  with  a  regu 
larity  and  precision  that  do  them  infinite  honor.  If 
they  can  secure  a  favorable  wind,  they  consider  it  an 
advantage ;  but,  if  not,  they  beat  and  tack,  so  as  to 
overcome  its  resistance  as  well  as  they  can.  They 
make  every  thing  subordinate  to  the  great  business 
of  migration.  The  swallow  snatches  the  insect,  and 
the  kingfisher  his  fish,  without  suspending  their  flight ; 
and,  if  they  are  late  in  their  journey,  they  allow 
themselves  no  rest  till  they  reach  their  destination. 
Hard  times  these  for  birds  of  large  size  and  little 
wings  !  On  they  must  go  ;  and  partly  by  trudging, 
and  partly  by  swimming,  they  relieve  the  hardship  of 
flying,  and  contrive  to  reach  a  place  of  safety  and 
rest.  It  seems  at  first  like  a  prodigious  undertaking 


BIOGRAPHY    OF    BIRDS. 


151 


for  a  bird  to  pass  from  Hudson's  Bay  to  Mexico  or 
South  America ;  but,  as  some  of  them  can  fly  at  the 
rate  of  sixty  miles  an  hour,  and  more  with  a  favor 
able  wind,  the  journey  is  soon  over,  and  the  shelter 
they  gain  well  worth  the  toil  of  reaching  it.  We 
wonder  not  that  they  should  go  :  we  are  rather 
tempted  to  say  to  some  poor  goldfinch,  which  we 
occasionally  see  pale  and  starving  in  the  dead  of 
winter,  as  Dr.  Johnson  did  to  the  crow  in  Scotland, 
"  What !  have  wings,  and  stay  here  !  "  We  know 
not  that  birds  have  much  imagination  themselves, 
but  they  certainly  inspire  it  in  others :  witness  the 
wish  which  Logan  sang,  and  a  thousand  hearts  have 
echoed,  —  to  travel  and  return  with  the  bird  in  the 
heavens,  which  knoweth  its  appointed  time,  a  perpet 
ual  companion  of  the  spring. 

It  is  well  worth  while,  also,  to  observe  the  provi 
sion  which  birds  make '  for  their  own  wants,  and  to 
see  how,  when  reason  sometimes  falters,  instinct 
always  operates  with  the  same  certainty  and  suc 
cess.  We  have  already  mentioned  the  woodpecker, 
who  grasps  the  trunk  of  a  tree  with  his  claws,  and 
stands  upon  his  tail,  drawing  out  insects  from  their 
burrows  in  the  wood.  It  is  said,  that  he  goes  to 
an  ant's  nest,  and  lies  down  pretending  to  be  dead, 
with  his  tongue  out,  drawing  it  in,  however,  as  often 
as  it  is  covered  with  the  ants,  which  are  a  favorite 
article  of  his  food.  The  nut-hatch  opens  nuts  or 
the  stories  of  fruits  by  repeated  blows  of  his  sharp, 
horny  bill.  The  butcher-bird,  which  lives  on  insects 
and  smaller  birds,  is  said  to  attract  the  latter  by 
imitating  their  call,  and  has  also  a  habit  of  impaling 


152  BIOGRAPHY    OF    BIRDS. 

upon  thorns  such  insects  as  he  does  not  need  at  the 
moment.  Some  have  thought  this  a  trap  set  for 
other  birds ;  but  this  is  improbable,  because  un 
necessary.  It  seems  more  likely  that  this  trick  of 
gathering  what  he  does  not  want,  and  keeping  it  till 
it  is  of  no  use  to  him,  is  one  which  he  has  learned  in 
his  intercourse  with  man.  The  whippoorwill  sits 
upon  the  fence  or  the  step  of  a  door,  singing  mourn 
fully,  as  if  he  had  lost  all  his  friends  ;  but  woe  to  the 
moth  who  believes  in  the  mourner's  having  lost  his 
appetite  also  !  the  bird  seizes  and  swallows  him,  with 
out  any  suspension  of  his  song,  The  raven  and  the 
gull,  who  are  fond  of  shell-fish,  but  are  not  provided 
with  instruments  to  open  them,  carry  them  high  into 
the  air,  and  let  them  fall  on  rocks  in  order  to  break 
the  shell.  In  this  way  it  is  said  that  a  philosopher's 
head  was  broken  in  ancient  times,  being  accidentally 
taken  for  a  stone.  Whether  this  be  true  or  not,  we 
cannot  say :  the  heads  of  sages  are  harder  now. 
The  bald  eagle,  proud  and  disdainful  as  he  seems, 
gets  a  great  part  of  his  living  in  a  manner  that  does 
more  credit  to  his  ingenuity  and  strength  than  to  his 
morals.  He  sits  in  gigantic  repose,  calmly  watching 
the  play  of  the  fishing-birds  over  the  blue  reach  of 
waters,  with  his  wings  loosely  raised,  as  if  keeping 
time  with  the  heaving  sea.  Soon  he  sees  the  fish- 
hawk  dive  heavily  in  the  ocean,  and  re-appear  with 
a  scream  of  triumph,  bearing  the  sluggish  fish.  Then 
the  gaze  of  the  eagle  grows  fiery  and  intense  ;  his 
wings  are  spread  wide,  and  he  gives  chase  to  the 
hawk,  till  he  compels  him  to  let  fall  his  prize ;  but  it 
is  not  lost,  for  the  eagle  wheels  in  a  broad  circle, 


BIOGRAPHY    OF    BIRDS.  153 

sweeps  down  upon  the  edge  of  the  wave,  and  se 
cures  it  before  it  touches  the  water.  Nothing  can  be 
more  majestic  than  the  flight  of  this  noble  bird : 
he  seems  to  move  by  an  effort  of  will  alone,  without 
the  waving  of  his  wings.  Pity  it  is  that  he  should 
dishonor  himself  by  such  unworthy  robbery  as  this  ! 
though  it  by  no  means  destroys  the  resemblance 
between  the  king  of  birds  and  the  kings  of  men. 

The  art  which  birds  display  in  their  nests  deserves 
admiration.  We  are  in  the  habit  of  speaking  of  the 
nest  as  the  home  of  the  bird ;  but  it  is  nothing  more 
than  the  cradle  of  the  young.  Birds  of  mature  years 
are  exposed  to  all  the  elements,  but  are  provided 
with  oil  to  spread  upon  their  plumage,  which  enables 
it  to  shed  the  rain.  This  supply  ceases  in  a  measure, 
when  birds  are  sheltered  by  the  care  of  man :  while 
the  small  bird  is  dry  and  active  through  all  the  heavi 
est  showers,  the  wet  human  being  does  not  look  more 
sorrowful  than  the  drowned  and  draggling  hen.  The 
nest  of  the  humming-bird,  that  little  creature  so  beau 
tiful,  and,  like  most  other  beauties,  so  deficient  in 
temper,  is  the  choicest  piece  of  work  that  can  be 
imagined  ;  being  formed  and  covered  with  moss,  in 
such  a  manner  as  to  resemble  exactly  a  knot  of  the 
limb  on  which  it  is  built.  But  this  is  exceeded  by 
the  little  tailor-bird  of  India,  which,  living  in  a  climate 
where  the  young  are  exposed  to  all  manner  of  foes, 
constructs  its  nest  by  sewing  together  two  large 
leaves  of  a  tree,  at  the  very  extremity  of  the  limb, 
where  neither  ape,  serpent,  nor  monkey,  would  ven 
ture  for  all  beneath  the  moon.  It  uses  its  bill  for  an 
awl,  and  fibres  for  threads,  and  thus  unites  them  in 


1;54  BIOGRAPHY    OF    BIRDS. 

a  workmanlike  manner,  placing  its  nest  between, 
lined  with  gossamer,  feathers,  and  down.  We  can 
see  something  resembling  this  in  the  nest  of  the  balti- 
more-oriole,  which  is  so  common  in  our  gardens  in 
summer.  It  is  formed  by  tying  together  some  forked 
twigs  at  the  extremity  of  a  limb,  with  strings  either 
stripped  from  vegetables,  or,  if  more  convenient, 
stolen  from  a  graft  or  a  window.  These  twigs  form 
a  frame- work,  round  which  they  weave  a  coarse 
covering  to  enclose  the  nest,  composed  of  thread, 
wool,  or  tow.  The  inner  nest  is  at  the  bottom  of 
this  external  pocket,  where  it  swings  securely  in  the 
highest  wind,  and  is  sheltered  by  the  arbor  of  leaves 
above  it,  both  from  the  rain  and  sun.  This  intelli 
gent  bird  was  not  slow  to  discover,  that  much  trouble 
might  be  saved  by  employing  strings  which  have 
been  already  prepared  by  the  hands  of  man  ;  and,  if 
skeins  of  thread  or  any  thing  of  the  kind  come  in  his 
way,  he  makes  use  of  them  without  asking  to  whom 
they  belong.  This  is  the  most  remarkable  structure 
of  the  kind  in  our  country ;  but,  if  we  may  believe 
the  accounts  of  others,  a  bird  in  India  makes  a  simi 
lar  nest,  with  several  apartments,  which  it  lights  up 
with  fire-flies  by  night. 

There  are  birds  which  construct  their  nests  with 
less  delicacy,  but  more  hard  labor  ;  the  woodpecker, 
for  example,  which  chisels  out  its  gallery  in  the 
trunks  or  limbs  of  trees,  and  thus  prepares  a  lodging, 
not  only  for  itself,  but  for  the  nut-hatch,  black  capt 
titmouse,  and  other  birds,  which  take  advantage  of 
the  woodpecker's  deserted  mansions.  The  king 
fisher  chooses  a  bank  near  the  scene  of  his  labors  ; 


BIOGRAPHY    OF    BIRDS.  155 

and  here,  with  his  mate,  works  with  his  bill  and 
claws  —  rather  ineffective  tools  for  the  purpose  —  till 
he  has  scooped  out  a  tunnel  of  the  depth  of  several 
feet  horizontally.  The  extreme  part  is  spacious  and 
ovenlike ;  but  the  entrance  is  only  large  enough  for 
one.  This  bird  does  not  waste  its  labor,  like  many 
others,  but  makes  the  same  cavern  answer  its  pur 
pose  for  a  number  of  years.  The  little  sandmartin 
follows  the  kingfisher's  example.  The  purple  mar 
tin,  and  the  republican  swallow,  which  is  now  emi 
grating  to  us  from  the  West,  defend  their  habitations 
with  a  mud  wall.  The  golden-crowned  thrush 
makes  its  nest  in  the  ground,  diffusing  it  so  as  to 
resemble  the  turf  around  it.  But  some  birds  show 
great  indifference  to  this  subject,  from  whom  it 
would  least  be  expected  ;  as  the  hen,  which  merely 
scratches  a  place  for  its  nest,  though  it  is  afterwards 
so  attentive  to  its  young.  The  sea-birds,  in  general 
rough  and  hardy  in  their  habits,  leave  their  eggs 
lying  loosely  on  the  sand.  The  duck,  however,  the 
eider  particularly,  which  is  one  of  our  northern  visit 
ors,  is  so  motherly  in  its  habits  as  to  strip  the  down 
from  its  own  breast  to  line  the  nest  for  its  young.  In 
the  northern  regions,  where  they  breed,  the  natives 
plunder  the  nest ;  the  bird  again  lines  its  habitation, 
and  again  it  is  plundered.  Many  an  individual  in 
civilized  countries  feathers  his  nest  at  the  expense  of 
the  poor  eider,  who  is  thus  a  martyr  to  her  maternal 
affection. 

Most  birds  make  their  nests  in  an  honest  and 
industrious  way  ;  but  there  is  a  knavish  crew,  which, 
for  reasons  which  we  cannot  fathom,  are  permitted 


136  BIOGRAPHY    OF    BIRDS. 

to  save  themselves  the  trouble,  both  of  providing 
lodging  and  education  for  their  young,  by  imposing 
the  burden  upon  others.  In  foreign  countries,  the 
cuckoo  is  guilty  of  this  unnatural  proceeding,  which 
combines  the  sins  of  desertion  and  imposture.  The 
reproach  is,  of  course,  transferred  to  our  American 
bird  of  that  name  ;  but  our  yellow-billed  cuckoo  is 
very  motherly  in  its  habits  and  feelings.  It  is  true 
that  its  eggs  have  been  found  in  the  nests  of  other 
birds  ;  but  a  distinguished  naturalist  conjectures,  that 
its  intention  was  to  steal  the  nest,  and  not  to  leave  its 
young  to  the  care  of  others.  The  worst  thing  known 
of  our  cuckoo  is,  that  it  feeds  upon  the  eggs  of  other 
birds.  The  unnatural  parent  in  this  country  is  the 
well-known  low  blackbird,  the  pest  of  almost  all 
the  feathered  race.  She  lays  her  egg  in  the  nests  of 
various  other  birds,  without  much  concern  in  the 
selection,  and  seems  fully  conscious  that  she  is  acting 
a  disgraceful  part.  If  the  owner  of  the  nest  have 
any  eggs  of  her  own,  she  takes  care  of  the  strange 
one,  rather  than  desert  them ;  if  not,  she  generally 
gives  up  the  work  she  has  finished  with  the  sweat  of 
her  brow.  Sometimes  the  birds  throw  out  the  egg 
that  has  no  business  there  ;  sometimes  they  lay  a  new 
floor  to  the  nest ;  but,  in  many  cases,  affection  for 
their  own  induces  them  to  submit  with  a  good  grace 
to  the  imposition.  When  the  young  foundling  is 
hatched,  the  quarters  are  so  small  for  him,  that  he 
often  stifles  the  other  young  birds,  merely  from  want 
of  room.  He  retreats  the  moment  he  is  able  to  fly,  as 
if  conscious  that  he  has  no  right  to  his  home.  This 
reproach  should  be  given  to  the  real  sinner,  and  not 


BIOGRAPHY    OF    BIRDS.  157 

to  the  cuckoo ;  for  the  latter  bird  does  actually  patch 
up  something,  which,  considering  that  it  is  honestly 
made,  may  be  dignified  with  the  name  of  nest. 

Birds,  like  men,  are  apt  to  regard  each  other  as 
lawful  prey ;  which  renders  various  provisions  of 
nature  necessary  to  secure  the  weak  against  the 
strong.  The  structure  of  the  eye  gives  an  advantage 
to  the  cannibal,  as  well  as  to  his  victim.  It  is  suited 
in  a  wonderful  manner  to  the  wants  of  the  animal, 
and  to  the  element  in  which  it  lives.  It  has  an 
apparatus  by  which  the  bird  can  push  it  out  and 
draw  it  in,  thus  extending  or  lessening  the  sphere  of 
vision  at  pleasure ;  the  nictitating  membrane  covers 
it  with  a  partially  opaque  curtain,  when  it  would 
reduce  the  light  without  closing  the  lid ;  the  nerve  is 
quick  in  its  sensibility  to  every  impression  ;  and  birds 
are  thus  enabled  either  to  pick  up  insects  close  before 
them,  or  to  look  abroad  over  miles  of  earth  and  sea. 
The  fish-hawk  sees  the  fish  at  an  immense  distance 
beneath  it ;  and  others  of  the  same  race  discern  their 
prey  on  the  ground  or  flying,  when  an  object  so 
small  would  be  wholly  invisible  to  the  human  eye. 
Under  these  circumstances,  the  smaller  birds  some 
times  borrow  resolution  from  despair.  The  graceful 
little  kingbird,  whose  military  habits  are  signified  by 
the  red  plume  which  he  sometimes  displays,  will  at 
tack  the  largest  tyrant  of  the  air  ;  and  not  only  crows, 
but  hawks  and  eagles,  retreat  from  him  with  an  expe 
dition  which  signifies  that  they  have  gained  neither 
profit  nor  honor  in  the  encounter.  When  the  smaller 
birds  think  it  unwise  to  do  battle,  they  retire  under 
hedges  and  brushwood ;  and  the  hawk  looks  after 

14 


158  BIOGRAPHY    OF    BIRDS. 

them,  as  British  frigates  did  after  the  little  Greek 
pirate-boats,  sorely  puzzled  to  tell  whether  they  had 
passed  into  the  earth  or  air,  while  they  were  quietly 
sunk  along  the  shore,  ready  to  float  again  as  soon  as 
the  danger  was  past.  When  this  cannot  be  conve 
niently  done,  they  sometimes  rush  out  to  meet  the 
bird  of  prey  in  great  numbers ;  and,  by  flying  about 
him  in  all  directions,  attempting  to  get  above  him, 
and  setting  up  a  general  outcry,  they  bewilder  his 
brain  —  never  very  bright  —  in  such  a  manner  that 
he  is  compelled  to  retreat,  in  order  to  collect  his  scat 
tered  wits.  When  they  have  no  other  resort,  they 
sometimes  put  themselves  under  the  protection  of 
man ;  but  they  consider  this  a  choice  of  evils,  and  to 
be  done  only  in  desperate  cases.  Nature  has  provi 
ded  for  the  security  of  some  which  have  not  ingenuity 
to  defend  themselves.  Some  are  made  to  resemble 
the  tree  so  closely  as  to  escape  unpleasant  obser 
vation  ;  some  find  the  same  security  in  their  likeness 
to  earth  and  stones.  Many  of  our  readers  have  doubt 
less  met  the  quail,  with  her  thriving  family  of  children, 
in  their  rambles  through  the  woods.  If  they  are  so 
well  aware  of  the  artifices  of  the  mother  as  not  to 
regard  her  pretence  of  lameness,  they  may  attempt 
to  secure  the  young  ;  but  fortunate  and  sharp-sighted 
must  they  be  to  discover  them,  such  is  their  resem 
blance  to  the  dried  leaves  in  which  they  nestle.  The 
young  of  the  whippoorwill,  also,  seem  aware  of  this 
advantage,  and  retain  great  composure  in  danger, 
trusting  that  they  shall  not  be  distinguished  from  the 
ground.  It  is  this  fear,  so  necessary  to  their  defence, 
which  makes  birds  so  reserved  in  their  intercourse 


BIOGRAPHY    OF    BIRDS.  159 

with  men,  that  their  characters  are  but  little  under 
stood.  The  crow,  for  example,  never  acts  himself 
till  he  is  tamed  and  made  familiar  with  man.  In  his 
wild  state,  he  is  eminently  suspicious :  let  him  see 
but  a  string  near  the  corn-field,  and  he  imagines  it 
a  snare  ;  let  any  one  attempt  to  approach  him  with  a 
gun,  and  he  keeps  at  a  respectful  distance,  while  he 
manifests  no  fear  of  an  unarmed  man.  When  do 
mesticated,  the  grave  and  jealous  wiseacre  lays  aside 
his  solemnity,  and  becomes  mischievous  as  a  mon 
key,  showing  in  his  tricks  astonishing  sagacity,  in 
selecting  both  subject  and  occasion.  Most  birds  can 
be  tamed ;  but  man  has  not  a  good  reputation  among 
them  in  general ;  and  it  is  not  easy  to  quiet  their  fears, 
lest  he  shall  abuse  his  power. 

The  voice  is  the  power  for  which  birds  are  most 
remarkable  ;  and  this  depends  very  much  upon  the 
quickness  of  their  hearing,  in  which  they  excel  most 
other  animals.  The  lungs  bear  a  very  large  pro 
portion  to  the  frame,  which  is  so  constructed  as  to 
receive  great  admissions  of  air,  which  aids  the  en 
ergy  of  sound.  The  distance  at  which  the  soaring 
birds  can  be  heard  is  almost  incredible.  The  cry  of 
the  eagle  will  reach  us  from  his  most  towering  height, 
and  the  wild  scream  of  the  sea-bird  rises  above  the 
thunder  of  the  beach.  The  variety  of  their  tones  is 
not  less  surprising.  The  common  barn-door  fowl 
is  an  example :  its  tones  are  ludicrously  human,  run 
ning  through  all  changes  expressive  of  passion,  but 
most  eloquent  in  discontent,  anxiety,  sorrow,  and 
despair.  But  the  smaller  birds  are  those  which  fill 
the  garden  and  the  wood  with  their  spirit-like  song. 


160  BIOGRAPHY    OF    BIRDS. 

Their  strains  are  poured  forth  to  swell  that  stream  of 
blended  melodies  which  form  the  voice  of  spring ;  a 
voice  full  of  pleasing  and  tender  associations,  which 
comes  upon  the  ear,  reminding  us  of  all  most  dear 
to  remembrance,  and  often  fills  the  soul  with  hap 
piness,  and  the  eyes  with  tears.  No  country  can 
exceed  our  own  in  this  music  of  nature.  The 
European  nightingale  has  been  long  regarded  as 
unrivalled  ;  but  now  it  is  conceded,  that  its  strain 
owes  something  of  its  charm  to  the  hour  when 
it  is  heard,  when  the  sounds  of  the  day  are  over, 
and  all  around  is  listening,  breathless  and  still.  But 
our  mocking-bird,  so  unworthily  named,  —  since  he 
introduces  snatches  of  songs  of  other  birds  into 
his  voluntary,  not  from  poverty  of  invention,  but  in 
wantonness,  and  to  show  how  his  own  surpasses 
them  all,  —  is  rather  an  enthusiast  than  an  imitator  ; 
as  any  one  may  know  who  has  seen  him  at  his 
matins,  with  every  nerve  in  motion,  trembling  with 
delight,  and  resembling  St.  Ignatius,  who,  as  Maflfei 
tells  us,  was  often  lifted  several  feet  from  the  ground 
by  the  intenseness  and  spirituality  of  his  devotions. 
These  fine  powers  of  song,  however,  are  not  con 
fined  to  one  or  two  birds  :  where  the  mocking-bird 
is  never  heard,  there  are  strains,  not  so  various  and 
striking  perhaps,  but  equally  plaintive,  original,  and 
sweet. 

Every  one  hears  the  voice  of  the  bird  with  interest 
and  pleasure ;  and  any  explanation  of  the  habits 
and  history  of  the  wild  and  retiring  musician  will  be 
generally  welcome.  For  reasons  which  will  easily 
suggest  themselves  to  the  reader,  no  general  atten- 


BIOGRAPHY    OF    BIRDS.  161 

tion  has  been  hitherto  given  to  the  subject.  The 
heavy  works  in  which  information  can  be  found  have 
been  treasured  in  expensive  libraries  only,  where 
they  are  out  of  the  reach  of  the  great  proportion  of 
those  who  are  most  interested  in  these  things.  But 
a  few  such  men  as  Audubon  will  soon  place  the 
results  of  their  adventurous  travels  where  men  shall 
see  and  know  them ;  a  taste  for  their  favorite  sci 
ences  will  gradually  be  created,  and  they  will  be  sure 
of  the  general  applause.  But  we  hope  that  the  mel 
ancholy  line,  "  Sic  vos  non  vobis  nidificatis  aves  !  " 
will  not  apply  to  them  as  truly  as  it  does  to  many  of 
their  favorite  race.  Those  who  have  labored  and 
suffered  in  the  cause  of  science  are  entitled  to  some 
thing  more  substantial  than  golden  opinions  ;  for,  if 
fame  be  a  reward,  it  is  one  for  which  they  are  in 
debted  to  themselves,  and  not  to  others. 

The  most  celebrated  adventurer  in  this  charming 
pursuit  was  Alexander  Wilson  ;  a  name  not  suffici 
ently  known  when  fame  would  have  been  of  use  to 
him,  but  now  surrounded  with  many  interesting  as 
sociations.  He  was,  till  the  eighteenth  year  of  his 
age,  apprentice  to  a  weaver  ;  but  he  never  seemed 
to  regard  his  trade  as  an  employment  at  all  seden 
tary  ;  and  he  was  in  the  constant  habit  of  making 
pilgrimages  through  his  native  land,  Scotland,  in  the 
capacity  of  a  pedler,  displaying  at  the  same  time  an 
indifference  to  profit,  and  a  passion  for  poetry,  not 
often  found  in  that  estimable  race.  This  latter  pro 
pensity  was  encouraged  by  the  success  of  Burns, 
with  whom  he  was  personally  acquainted.  But  Wil 
son,  when  he  attempted  to  publish  his  inspirations, 
u* 


162 


BIOGRAPHY    OF    BIRDS. 


met  with  no  good  fortune,  except  once,  when  com 
pelled  to  burn  with  his  own  hands,  at  the  town-cross, 
a  satire  which  he  had  written  upon  some  individual 
by  whom  he  thought  the  weavers  had  been  oppress 
ed  ;  upon  which  occasion  he  was  cheered  by  the 
multitude  as  a  patriot  and  a  martyr.  We  can  hardly 
account  for  his  entire  failure  in  his  poetical  attempts. 
One  would  have  supposed,  that,  with  a  glowing  im 
agination,  a  quick  and  delicate  sensibility,  a  melan 
choly  and  sometimes  majestic  tone  of  thought,  and  a 
perseverance  untiring  as  an  eagle's  wing,  he  must 
have  become  distinguished  in  an  art  where  many 
have  secured  eminence  without  half  his  powers.  But 
so  it  was,  that  he  might  as  well  have  attempted  to 
weave  the  visions  of  his  fancy  in  the  tapestry  of  a 
Paisley  loom,  as  express  them  in  such  numbers  as 
those  which  he  gave  triumphantly  to  the  world,  and 
which  the  world,  fortunately  for  science,  rejected. 

Wilson  came  to  this  country  in  1794,  so  forlorn  in 
circumstances  that  he  slept  upon  deck  through  the 
whole  voyage,  and,  when  he  arrived,  had  no  property 
but  a  fowling-piece.  He  landed  at  Newcastle,  and, 
as  he  was  walking  to  Philadelphia,  shot  a  red-headed 
woodpecker.  It  is  said  that  he  often  mentioned  after 
wards  what  delight  the  sight  of  this  beautiful  bird 
gave  him  ;  and,  as  this  was  a  time  when  he  was 
naturally  full  of  excitement,  the  incident  probably 
had  much  effect  in  determining  his  mind  to  that  pur 
suit,  which  resulted  in  his  becoming  the  historian  of 
the  feathered  race.  After  a  few  years  of  depression, 
variegated  by  an  occasional  change  from  the  employ 
ment  of  a  schoolmaster  to  that  of  pedler,  he  found  a 


BIOGRAPHY    OF    BIRDS.  163 

resting-place  on  the  banks  of  the  Schuylkill ;  the 
same  region  which  afterwards  inspired  Audubon 
with  taste  and  enthusiasm  similar  to  his  own.  Here 
he  was  fortunate  enough  to  find  friends,  who,  though 
they  dared  not  encourage  him  in  a  pursuit  where  the 
sacrifices  were  likely  to  be  great,  and  the  substantial 
rewards  very  few,  seem,  nevertheless,  to  have  sym 
pathized  with  him,  and  to  have  believed  as  he  did, 
that  the  volume  of  nature  deserved  to  be  read,  as 
well  as  the  day-book  and  ledger.  This  was  precisely 
the  encouragement  which  his  energetic  spirit  wanted  ; 
his  plans  were  already  rough-hewn  in  his  own  ima 
gination  ;  and,  once  assured  that  his  object  was 
properly  estimated  by  others  whose  judgment  he 
valued,  he  knew  how  to  make  minor  difficulties  give 
way  before  him.  He  applied  himself  earnestly  to 
the  study  of  natural  history  in  the  intervals  of  his 
labor  as  a  teacher,  and  made  various  attempts  at 
delineating  birds,  but  so  unsuccessfully  that  for  a 
long  time  the  sight  of  them  filled  him  with  indignation 

O  o  O 

and  despair.  Still  he  persevered,  wisely  resolving  to 
make  that  preparation  for  his  rambles,  without  which 
his  labor  would  be  thrown  away.  He  went  on  foot  to 
Niagara  in  1805  ;  and  on  his  return  we  find  him  with 
a  spirit  undaunted,  but  a  fortune  considerably  less 
than  a  dollar,  expressing  a  manly  confidence  that 
he  had  the  resources  which  his  enterprise  required  ; 
a  constitution  which  hardship  only  strengthened ;  a 
heart  unchained  by  domestic  affections  ;  a  disposition 
equally  satisfied  with  a  comfortable  bed,  or  an  Indian 
fire  in  the  heart  of  the  woods  ;  and,  above  all,  a  reso 
lution  which  no  failure  could  depress,  and  no  obstacle 


164  BIOGRAPHY    OF    BIRDS. 

withstand.  He  made  engagements  with  a  bookseller 
in  Philadelphia,  who  was  to  advance  the  funds  re 
quired  for  an  edition  of  two  hundred  copies,  while 
Wilson  was  to  furnish  the  drawings  and  descriptions, 
receiving  meantime  a  small  sum  for  coloring  the 
plates,  which  formed  his  only  support.  He  thought 
it  necessary  to  make  a  commencement  of  his  work, 
in  order  that  he  might  use  it  to  gain  subscribers, 
while  wandering  through  the  country  to  collect  ma 
terials  for  his  future  numbers. 

In  1808,  he  went  forth,  directing  his  steps  east 
ward,  and  arranged  his  outposts  and  spies  in  such  a 
manner,  that  he  expressed  his  confidence  that  not 
a  wren  could  travel  from  York  to  Canada  without 
his  receiving  immediate  information.  But  subscribers 
did  not  abound,  and  the  whole  number  he  was  able 
to  collect  amounted  only  to  forty-one  ;  while  the 
drudgery  of  making  his  proposals  again  and  again, 
only  to  hear  them  rejected,  was  extremely  grating  to  a 
spirit  like  his,  melancholy  and  somewhat  proud.  So 
little  was  his  object  appreciated,  that  in  Haverhill, 
New  Hampshire,  he  was  apprehended  as  a  spy ;  the 
inhabitants  supposing  that  some  foreign  power  had 
fallen  in  love  with  their  paradise,  and  was  preparing 
plans  for  an  invasion.  When  he  returned  from  the 
East,  after  resting  but  a  day  or  two.  he  made  a  tour 
through  the  Southern  States,  and  succeeded  in  adding 
one  hundred  and  twenty-five  to  his  subscription-list, 
beside  gaining  subjects  for  his  pencil  from  the  cypress 
swamps  and  pine  savannas.  All  his  remarks  upon 
men  and  manners  are  those  of  a  sharp,  thoughtful,  and 
rather  sad  observer  ;  but,  in  a  third  tour,  where  his 


BIOGRAPHY    OF    BIRDS.  165 

route  led  him  through  the  vast  Western  regions  of  our 
country,  —  which  he  visited  before  the  steam-boat 
had  supplanted  the  ark  and  the  bush-whacker  upon 
the  rivers,  thus  removing  solitude  and  extending  civ 
ilization,  by  crowding  the  work  of  a  hundred  years 
into  ten,  —  he  seems  to  travel  with  a  lighter  step 
and  heart,  as  if  he  had  learned  distrust  from  those 
subjects  of  his  art  that  spread  their  wings  and  fly 
from  the  presence  of  man.  But  he  did  not  escape 
mortifications  even  there.  A  certain  judge  told  him, 
that  his  book,  being  out  of  the  reach  of  the  com 
monalty,  was  anti-republican,  and  ought  not  to  be 
encouraged.  Wilson  asked  him  what  he  thought 
of  his  own  handsome  three-story  house  ;  whether  such 
buildings  were  within  the  reach  of  the  commonalty, 
as  he  called  them ;  —  a  question,  to  which  it  is  not 
stated,  that  the  bench  made  any  satisfactory  reply. 
He  evidently  felt  such  coarse  remarks  much  more 
than  the  serious  difficulties  and  hardships  of  his  way. 
In  fact,  he  held  those  labors  very  light ;  and  there  is, 
to  our  apprehension,  something  grand  and  striking 
in  the  thought  of  a  man  going  forth  alone,  in  the 
strength  of  his  own  heart,  with  none  to  share  his 
trials,  or  even  understand  his  feelings  ;  seeing  what 
others  could  not  see,  hearing  what  others  could  not 
hear ;  bearing  gallantly  onward,  like  a  light  vessel 
over  the  unsounded  seas ;  while  all  who  crowd  the 
shore,  as  it  departs,  prophesy  that  it  was  "  built  in 
the  eclipse,"  and  they  never  shall  see  it  again. 

Lest  we  be  taken  for  enthusiasts,  which  would  be 
fatal  to  our  reputation  as  reviewers,  we  would  say, 
that  it  is  not  every  great  naturalist  who  makes  a  sub- 


166  BIOGRAPHY    OF    BIRDS. 

lime  and  affecting  impression  :  witness  Mr.  A-udu- 
bon's  picturesque  account  of  his  visit  from  M.  de 

T ,  a  blank  which  some  readers  will  probably  be 

able  to  fill.  One  day,  when  walking  by  the  river, 
he  saw  an  individual  land  from  a  boat  with  a  bunch 
of  hay  upon  his  back,  who  seemed  to  occasion  some 
speculation  among  the  boatmen.  The  stranger  in 
quired  for  Mr.  Audubon,  and,  learning  that  he  was 
the  person,  gave  him  a  letter  of  introduction  from  a 
friend,  which  began,  "  I  send  you  an  odd  fish,  which 
I  hope  you  will  describe."  Mr.  Audubon  read  the 
letter  aloud,  and  asked  him  where  it  was.  The  stran 
ger,  rubbing  his  hands  with  much  glee,  replied,  "  I 
am  the  odd  fish,  I  presume,  sir."  After  such  an 
apology  as  was  forthcoming,  Mr.  Audubon  olfered  to 
send  for  his  baggage,  but  was  saved  the  trouble  by 

M.  de  T 's  informing  him,  that  he  had  none,  save 

the  cargo  of  weeds  upon  his  back.  When  introduced 
to  the  ladies,  he  thought  it  necessary  to  improve 
his  appearance,  and  accordingly,  pulling  off  his 
shoes,  began  to  draw  down  his  stockings  to  hide  the 
holes  about  the  heels,  remarking  that  his  dress  had 
suffered  a  little  in  his  journey.  It  consisted  of  a 
long,  loose  coat  of  yellow  nankeen,  which  had  been 
stained  into  a  resemblance  to  that  of  Joseph's,  by  the 
juice  of  various  plants  and  flowers;  a  waistcoat  of 
the  same,  with  unfathomable  pockets,  and  buttoned 
up  to  the  chin,  covering  a  large  portion  of  his  tight 
pantaloons,  —  the  whole  raiment  surmounted  by  long 
hair  and  a  beard,  which  were  left  to  the  care  of  na 
ture.  The  spectre  conversed  in  a  very  intelligent 
and  agreeable  manner,  but  was  impatient  to  see  Mr. 


BIOGRAPHY    OF    BIRDS.  167 

Audubon's  drawings  of  birds  and  flowers.  On  look 
ing  at  one  of  the  latter,  he  shook  his  head,  and  de 
clared  that  there  was  no  such  plant.  Mr.  Audubon 
at  once  silenced  his  doubts  by  taking  him  to  the  spot 
where  it  grew ;  upon  seeing  which,  he  danced  and 
shouted  in  ecstasy,  declaring  that  he  had  found,  not 
only  a  new  species,  but  a  new  genus,  and  appearing 
as  if  he  could  have  died  happy.  At  midnight,  a  great 
uproar  was  heard  in  the  naturalist's  apartment ;  and 
Mr.  Audubon,  running  thither  in  alarm,  found  him 
racing  round  the  room  with  the  handle  of  a  violin  in 
his  hand,  having  already  demolished  the  body  of 
it  in  attempts  to  beat  down  some  bats,  nothing 
regarding  his  own  want  of  drapery,  nor  the  de 
struction  he  was  making.  Having  secured  one  of 
the  intruders  for  his  collection,  he  retired  to  bed 
with  singular  satisfaction.  After  remaining  an  in 
mate  in  the  family  for  three  weeks,  he  suddenly  dis 
appeared  ;  and  they  could  only  account  for  his 
absence  by  supposing  that  he  had  himself  been  taken 
and  secured  as  a  specimen,  till  a  letter  of  thanks 
from  him  came  to  hand  some  time  after.  Mr.  Audu 
bon  seems  to  have  taken  vengeance  on  the  naturalist 
for  the  destruction  of  his  fiddle,  and  the  various 
other  inconveniences  he  had  occasioned,  by  showing 
him  the  interior  of  a  cane-brake,  where  they  encount 
ered  a  bear  who  was  upon  the  same  expedition,  and 
were  overtaken  by  a  thunder-storm,  which  made  the 
man  of  science  for  once  forget  his  enthusiasm  in  his 
fears.  We  can  forgive  this,  inasmuch  as  the  jest 
was  in  the  way  of  their  profession ;  but  we  feel 
bound  to  declare  our  entire  disapprobation  of  his 


168  BIOGRAPHY    OF    BIRDS. 

proceeding,  in  exposing  a  fellow-traveller  to  the 
wrath  of  a  pole-cat.  This  gentleman,  struck  with 
the  beauty  of  the  animal,  dismounted  in  order  to 
secure  it ;  but  was  soon  convinced,  that,  because  the 
creature  was  pleasing  to  one  sense,  it  did  not  follow 
that  he  should  be  equally  acceptable  to  another.  We 
should  as  soon  have  thought  of  exposing  a  human 
being  to  the  attacks  of  a  party  newspaper  on  the  eve 
of  a  presidential  election.  How  far  this  unsavory 
jest  was  carried,  we  are  not  precisely  informed  ;  but, 
though  reviewers  by  profession,  we  can  see  no  sport 
in  the  suffering  of  our  fellow-creatures ;  and  we 
undertake  to  assure  Mr.  Audubon,  that  the  least  play 
of  such  humor  is  extremely  offensive. 

But  to  return  to  Wilson.  When  Mr.  Audubon 
resided  in  Louisville,  Wilson  came  into  his  counting- 
room  one  morning,  with  the  two  numbers  of  his 
work  then  published,  and  offered  his  proposals.  Mr. 
Audubon  describes  his  appearance  as  rendered  strik 
ing  by  the  keenness  of  his  eyes,  and  the  prominence 
of  his  cheekbones  ;  and  his  peculiarities  of  look  were 
probably  heightened  by  an  expression  of  surprise  at 
finding  another  person  engaged  at  the  moment  in  a 
pursuit  similar  to  his  own.  As  Mr.  Audubon  was 
about  to  write  his  name  as  a  subscriber,  his  partner 
advised  him  rather  abruptly  to  forbear,  assuring  him 
in  French  that  his  own  drawings  were  superior  to 
those  of  Wilson,  and  that  his  acquaintance  with  the 
habits  of  birds  could  not  be  less.  This  advice  pre 
vailed,  and  he  declined  subscribing.  Mr.  Audubon 
observes,  that  Wilson  did  not  appear  pleased,  either 
because  he  understood  the  language  in  which  the 


BIOGRAPHY    OF    BIRDS.  169 

remark  was  made,  or  because  he  was  disappointed 
in  the  hope  of  adding  to  his  list.  He  probably  did 
not  understand  French ;  but  the  language  of  manner 
is  the  same  all  the  world  over.  It  requires  but  little 
study  to  discover  the  meaning  of  expressions  of  light 
esteem ;  and,  beside  this,  a  man  who  has  given  his 
life  and  heart  to  the  accomplishment  of  an  object, 
believing  that  he  has  no  rival,  must  be  somewhat 
more  than  human,  if  he  be  delighted  to  find  that 
another  is  engaged  in  the  same  purpose,  with  equal 
energy,  and  advantages  far  greater  than  his  own. 
They,  however,  compared  notes  in  a  friendly  man 
ner,  and  ranged  the  woods  together.  Mr.  Audubon 
introduced  him  to  nis  family,  and  did  all  in  his  power 
to  make  his  visit  pleasant ;  but  he  seemed  oppressed 
by  constant  melancholy,  which  was  only  relieved  by 
the  Scotch  airs  which  he  played  sweetly  on  his  flute, 
social  enjoyments  having  for  him  no  charm  nor 
attraction.  Mr.  Audubon  offered  him  his  own  draw 
ings  for  the  "  American  Ornithology,"  only  stipulat 
ing  that  they  should  bear  his  own  name  ;  but  Wilson 
did  not  accept  the  proposal.  Mr.  Audubon  after 
wards  waited  upon  him  in  Philadelphia,  and  was 
kindly  received  ;  but  nothing  was  said  of  the  subject 
which  was  nearest  to  their  hearts.  When  the  ninth 
number  of  the  "  Ornithology  "  was  published,  Mr. 
Audubon  was  surprised,  and  not  particularly  de 
lighted,  to  find  a  note  from  Wilson's  journal,  dated 
March  23,  1810,  in  which  he  remarks  that  in  Louis 
ville  he  received  no  attention,  and  gained  neither 
new  subscriber  nor  new  bird.  "  Science  and  litera 
ture,"  said  he,  "  have  not  one  friend  in  the  place." 
16 


170  BIOGRAPHY    OF    BIRDS. 

Mr.  Audubon  relates  these  circumstances  with  a 
tone  which  does  him  honor ;  without  making  com 
plaints  of  Wilson,  who  certainly  appears  at  dis 
advantage,  and  without  losing  his  respect  for  the 
talent  and  enterprise  of  a  very  remarkable  man. 
He  had  a  right  to  justify  himself,  and  this  is  all  he 
attempts  in  his  explanation.  The  note  was  probably 
written  in  a  moment  of  disappointment  and  depres 
sion,  and  was  an  exact  description  of  the  writer's 
feelings.  We  can  do  more  justice  to  both,  if  we 
remember  that  neither  party  was  then  known  to  the 
world.  If  we  think  of  Wilson  at  the  time  as  one 
whose  acquaintance  was  thought  an  honor,  or  whose 
genius  was  respected  as  it  now  is,  we  shall  widely 
mistake  his  condition.  He  was  a  man  of  plain 
appearance,  of  manners  not  prepossessing  to  stran 
gers,  engaged  in  a  pursuit  which  not  one  in  ten 
thousand  knew  how  to  appreciate,  and  which  indeed 
owes  its  fame  in  our  country  principally  to  his  exer 
tions.  His  features  were  rather  coarse,  and  his  dress 
better  suited  to  the  forest  than  the  drawing-room : 
moreover  he  carried  with  him  a  subscription-list,  and 
was  thus  connected  with  a  class  of  visitors  which  no 
man  welcomes  to  his  house  with  rapture.  Under 
these  circumstances,  though  we  have  no  doubt  that 
Mr.  Audubon  treated  him  with  kind  attention,  and 
felt  respect  for  his  enthusiasm,  still  it  required  a 
prophet's  eye  to  discover  his  full  claims,  and  to  as 
sign  him  that  high  place  which,  as  a  man  of  genius, 
he  felt  he  had  a  right  to  demand.  All  who  knew 
Wilson  unanimously  testify,  that,  although  irritable, 
and  unable  to  endure  the  least  disrespect,  his  dispo- 


BIOGRAPHY    OF    BIRDS.  171 

sition  was  remarkably  kind,  liberal,  and  just.  In  all 
his  dealings  with  others,  he  was  the  very  soul  of 
honor ;  so  that  he  was  doubtless  misled  by  feelings 
of  despondency,  which  often  attach  unpleasant  asso 
ciations,  in  an  unjust  and  unaccountable  manner,  to 
places  and  persons  which  by  no  means  deserve  them. 
We  observe  that  the  "  American  Quarterly  Review," 
in  noticing  the  work  before  us,  justifies  Philadelphia 
from  an  implied  censure  cast  upon  it  by  Mr.  Audu- 
bon.  He  says  that  Liverpool  freely  accorded  to  him 
honors,  which,  on  application  made  by  his  friends, 
Philadelphia  had  refused  him.  We  do  not  profess 
to  understand  the  allusion.  That  city  is  the  last  to 
deserve  a  charge  of  want  of  hospitality,  and  Mr.  Au- 
dubon  is  evidently  not  the  man  to  make  unreasonable 
complaints  or  demands.  We  think  it  probable,  that 
he  wrote  thus  from  having  accidentally  connected 
depressing  associations  with  a  place  where  he  had 
hoped  to  publish  his  work,  and  where  he  found  him 
self  disappointed ;  and  that  it  never  occurred  either 
to  him  or  to  Wilson,  that,  in  expressing  their  feel 
ings,  they  were  bringing  grave  charges  against  any 
place  or  people. 

It  does  not  seem  probable  to  us,  that,  if  Wilson 
and  Audubon  had  been  acquainted  with  each  other 
more  intimately  and  under  more  favorable  circum 
stances,  they  would  have  been  very  well  suited  to 
each  other.  Those  who  agree  in  being  devoted  to  a 
similar  object  are  generally  said  to  have  similarity 
of  taste  ;  but  this  does  not  follow  ;  and,  where  they 
are  unlike  in  feeling,  their  pursuit  of  the  same  object 
is  more  likely  to  make  them  rivals  than  friends. 


172  BIOGRAPHY    OF    BIRDS. 

Wilson  was  a  man  whose  powers  were  concentrated 
upon  a  single  purpose  :   he  pursued  it,  not  as  an 
amusement,  nor  even  an   employment,  but  as  the 
great  object  of  his  life,  and  with  a  deep  and  deter 
mined   spirit,  which   few  could   understand.      The 
subjects  of  his  art  and  inquiry  were  not  playthings 
to  him,  they  were  intimate   and   familiar   friends ; 
their  voice  was  not  music,  but  language ;  instead  of 
dying  away  upon  the  ear,  it  went  down  into  his  soul. 
To  him   the   notes  with  which   they  heralded   the 
spring  were  full  of  glory ;   and,  when  in  the  autumn 
they  heard  far  off  the  trumpet  of  the  storm,  and  sang 
their  farewell  to  the  woods,  it  was  solemn  and  affect 
ing,  as  if  it  were  breathed  from  a  living  and  beating 
heart.     To  others  this  interest  seemed  senseless  and 
excessive ;   but  he  was  one  of  those  who  never  smile 
at  the  depth  and  earnestness  of  their  own  emotions. 
When  he  described  the  birds,  he  spoke  of  their  habits 
and  manners  as  if  they  were  intelligent  things  ;  and 
thus  has  given  a  life  and  charm  to  his  descriptions, 
which  will  make  his  work  the  chief  attraction  of  the 
science,  in  our  country,  for  many  years  to  come. 
But,   as  might  be  supposed,  this  very  enthusiasm, 
which  was  so  strong  that  he  kept  it  as  much  as  pos 
sible  to  himself,  thinking  it  would  find  no  sympathy 
with  those  who  never  had  felt  it,  has  led  him  into 
many  errors.     He  trusted  too  much  to  his  imagina 
tion  :   from  what  he  saw  he  inferred  much  that  he 
did  not  see,  and  therefore  his  successors  have  been 
constantly  employed  in  correcting  the  mistakes  of 
their  master.     Audubon  entered  upon  the  pursuit 
with  an  enthusiasm  equally  resolute,  but  much  more 


BIOGRAPHY    OF    BIRDS.  173 

light-hearted.  It  began  in  childhood  ;  and,  as  it 
grew  with  his  growth  and  strengthened  with  his 
strength,  it  was  more  judicious  and  discriminating 
than  if  he  had,  late  in  life,  turned  the  whole  current 
of  his  feeling  in  this  new  direction.  Beside  this 
material  difference,  he  was  more  fortunate  than  Wil 
son,  in  having  a  family  who  sympathized  with  him, 
when  other  friends  discouraged  him,  and  complained 
of  the  waste  of  his  time  and  exertions.  Being  more 
a  man  of  the  world  than  Wilson,  though  without 
losing  the  simplicity  of  his  mind,  we  feel  that  he  is 
less  likely  to  be  led  away  by  his  fancy,  and  there 
fore  trust  him  as  a  safer  guide,  though  not  a  more 
fascinating  companion.  But,  if  he  is  less  poetical 
than  Wilson,  he  has  much  of  the  spirit  of  his  prede 
cessor.  The  very  name  which  he  has  given  to  his 
Avork  —  "  Biography  "  —  shows  that  he  feels  as  if 
he  were  describing  intelligent  and  spiritual  things, 
and  thus  inspires  a  sort  of  Pythagorean  interest,  such 
as  natural  history  is  seldom  fortunate  enough  to 
awaken.  When  he  introduces  a  bird  to  our  ac 
quaintance,  he  is  evidently  solicitous  to  place  its 
virtues  and  attractions  in  the  most  flattering  light,  as 
if  he  were  speaking  in  favor  of  a  friend.  We  need 
hardly  say  that  his  work  is  very  engaging.  The  sin 
gleness  of  heart  which  is  always  found  connected  with 
an  enthusiastic  love  of  nature  speaks  volumes  in  favor 
of  such  men  ;  and,  if  it  were  not  so,  their  various  and 
amusing  adventures,  the  wild  aspects  of  the  country 
which  they  describe,  their  escapes  and  dangers,  their 
hardships  and  pleasures,  all  alike  unknown  to  ordi 
nary  life,  give  to  their  writings  a  romantic  charm. 

15* 


174  BIOGRAPHY    OF    BIRDS. 

Mr.  Audubon  was  born  in  America,  but  was  de 
scended  from  a  French  family,  and  was  sent  early 
in  life,  to  receive  his  education  in  France.  This 
would  be  sufficiently  evident  from  the  peculiar  style 
of  his  writings,  which  are  fluent  and  eloquent,  but 
carry  evidence  with  them  that  they  never  proceeded 
from  an  English  pen.  It  would  seem,  that  the  direc 
tion  in  which  he  has  been  so  successful  Avas  given  to 
his  taste  in  early  childhood.  It  must  have  been 
partly  inherited ;  for  the  passion  rose  at  a  period 
earlier  than  he  can  remember,  and  he  tells  us  that 
his  father  encouraged  it,  pointing  out  to  him  the 
graceful  movement  and  beautiful  forms  of  birds. 
There  was  no  need,  however,  of  fanning  the  flame ; 
for,  from  the  first,  he  was  never  happy  when  removed 
from  the  forests  and  fields,  and  his  chief  enjoyment 
was  to  find  out  the  homes  of  the  small  birds  in  the 
green  masses  of  foliage,  or  to  follow  the  curlew  and 
cormorant  to  the  retreats  where  they  sought  shelter 
from  the  fury  of  the  storm.  To  look  upon  their  eggs  in 
the  downy  nest  or  on  the  burning  sands,  and  to  trace 
their  history  from  the  shell  through  all  their  migrations 
and  changes,  was  then,  as  it  is  now,  the  favorite  desire 
of  his  heart.  It  might  seem  a  dangerous  thing  in  a 
parent  to  encourage  a  taste  which  was  already  so 
strong,  and  which,  if  it  became  engrossing,  threatened 
to  interfere  so  much  with  the  more  practical  pursuits 
of  life.  He  probably  was  willing  that  his  son  should 
make  this  the  business  of  his  life,  and  appears  to  have 
taken  judicious  care  to  impress  upon  his  child,  that  all 
the  admiration  and  love  which  nature  inspires  should 
remind  us  of  Him  who  made  it. 


BIOGRAPHY    OF    BIRDS.  175 

He  was  desirous  of  keeping  these  subjects  of  study 
always  before  him ;  but  he  found  no  satisfaction  in 
looking  upon  the  stuffed  birds  of  collections,  which, 
like  the  Egyptian  mummies,  retain  but  a  small  por 
tion  of  their  living  attractions.  These  would  not 
answer ;  and  the  beauties  of  their  plumage  seemed 
to  him  as  perishable  as  sunset  clouds,  till  his  father, 
at  the  proper  time,  set  before  him  a  book  of  illustra 
tions.  This  awakened  a  new  ambition ;  and  he 
determined  to  rival,  and  if  possible  excel,  what 
he  saw.  But  he  was  obliged  to  go  through  the  usual 
discipline ;  his  first  efforts  seemed  like  caricatures ; 
and  every  new  advance  he  made  rendered  him  dis 
contented  with  what  he  had  done  before.  It  is  a 
grievous  thing  to  man  to  be  compelled  to  laugh  at 
his  own  productions,  because  he  feels  that  another 
year's  improvement  may  render  his  present  efforts  as 
ludicrous  to  himself  as  the  former.  But  this  is  one 
of  the  evidences  of  real  taste  and  talent.  It  shows 
that  the  standard  of  excellence  in  the  artist's  mind  is 
set  high  ;  and  this  is  an  advantage  both  in  youth  and 
manhood  ;  for  the  moment  one  begins  to  be  satisfied 
with  his  own  productions,  he  shows  that  he  has  lost 
his  enthusiastic  desire  to  improve,  —  a  desire  which 
forms  the  inspiration  of  genius,  and  without  which  no 
one  ever  was  great. 

While  receiving  his  education  in  France,  from 
which  country  he  returned  at  the  age  of  seventeen, 
Mr.  Audubon  took  lessons  in  drawing  from  David ; 
which,  though  the  subjects  were  not  such  as  he  would 
have  chosen  for  himself,  doubtless  gave  him  an  ease 
and  freedom  with  the  hand  and  eye,  which  he  found 


176  BIOGRAPHY    OF    BIRDS. 

of  great  advantage.  He  immediately  commenced 
the  great  undertaking  which  is  now  well  known  to  the 
world.  His  father  gave  him  an  estate  on  the  Schuyl- 
kill,  a  residence  well  suited  to  his  purpose  ;  and  here, 
he  says,  it  was  his  constant  practice  to  commence  his 
rambles  at  daybreak,  it  being  his  happiness  and  tri 
umph  to  return  wet  with  dew,  with  the  bird  which 
was  to  ornament  his  page.  Those  who  are  ac 
quainted  with  birds  know  how  much  they  are  in  the 
habit  of  following  the  course  of  rivers,  in  their  period 
ical  journeys,  and  that  a  diligent  observer  near  one  of 
our  larger  streams  will  be  likely  to  see  nearly  all  the 
inland  birds.  But  it  was  not  enough  for  him  to  know 
their  forms :  he  wished  to  learn  their  history  in  every 
particular;  and,  to  gain  this  information,  he  under 
took  long  and  hazardous  expeditions,  being  some 
times  absent  from  his  family  for  years,  engaged  in 
exploring  prairies,  mountains,  lakes,  and  seas.  We 
said,  that  he  was  from  the  beginning  engaged  in  this 
undertaking;  but  we  must  not  give  the  impression, 
that  he  had  in  view  the  publication  before  us :  on  the 
contrary,  he  assures  us,  that  he  was  led  onward  solely 
by  the  love  of  the  pursuit,  from  which  he  derived 
constant  gratification.  His  friends  were  as  earnest 
as  those  of  Job  to  convince  him  that  he  was  much 
to  blame,  and  he  confesses  that  any  one  who  saw 
his  habits  might  have  supposed  him  negligent  of  every 
domestic  duty ;  but  his  wife  and  children,  who  were 
certainly  most  interested  in  his  movements,  did  not 
join  in  the  censure.  They  will  now  be  rewarded  for 
their  forbearance,  by  enjoying  the  reflection  of  his 
fame. 


BIOGRAPHY    OF    BIRDS.  177 

How  much  he  was  in  earnest  in  his  rambles  ap 
pears  from  his  account  of  a  visit  to  Niagara,  in  which 
he  has  given  a  picture  of  himself,  as  life-like  as  any 
of  his  colored  illustrations.  He  had  been  wandering 
near  the  lakes  for  months,  and  was  returning  with 
his  drawings  of  plants  and  birds.  The  last  vestige 
of  his  linen  had  long  ago  been  devoted  to  the  pur 
pose  of  cleaning  his  gun  ;  he  was  dressed  like  one  of 
the  poorest  Indians ;  his  beard  covered  his  neck,  and 
his  hair  flowed  down  his  back ;  his  leathern  raiment 
was  crying  loudly  for  repair ;  a  large  knife  hung  at 
his  side  ;  and  a  worn-out  blanket,  containing  his  tin 
box  of  drawings,  was  buckled  to  his  shoulders.  In 
this  guise,  he  walked  into  the  public  house,  and  de 
manded  breakfast ;  all  present  being  amazed  to  hear 
from  such  a  figure  any  thing  that  denoted  a  resem 
blance  to  civilized  man.  The  landlord  seemed 
anxious  to  secure  him  as  a  lion  ;  and  he  had,  in  fact, 
come  for  the  sake  of  sketching  the  fall ;  but  he  made 
a  discovery  which  may  well  be  published  for  the 
benefit  of  painters,  viz.  that,  in  a  miniature  picture  of 
such  a  scene,  no  very  impressive  idea  can  be  given 
of  the  extent  or  the  sound.  It  would  save  many 
a  painting,  in  which  the  falling  ocean  dwindles  to  a 
mill-dam. 

The  idea  of  making  a  collection  for  publication 
never  suggested  itself  to  Mr.  Audubon  till  he  visited 
Philadelphia  in  1824,  on  his  way  to  the  eastward 
through  the  Atlantic  States.  He  was  then  a  stranger 
to  all  but  Dr.  Mease,  who  introduced  him  to  the 
well-known  Charles  Bonaparte,  whose  name,  we 
observe,  is  sometimes  decorated  with  a  title  ;  though, 


178  BIOGRAPHY    OF    BIRDS. 

we  doubt  not,  he  looks  to  science  for  his  most  honor 
able  distinctions.  From  Philadelphia  he  proceeded 
to  New  York,  where  he  was  received  with  flattering 
attention,  and,  after  ascending  the  Hudson,  traversed 
the  great  western  lakes,  making  probably  the  tour 
to  which  we  have  just  alluded.  The  thought  of 
publishing  to  the  world  the  results  of  his  labors  sup 
plied  him  with  a  new  inspiration  and  a  more  definite 
object :  the  thought  of  a  solitary  individual  like  him 
self  gaining  a  name  in  the  old  world,  by  his  laborious 
pilgrimages  through  the  desert  regions  of  the  new, 
came  in  aid  of  his  attachment  to  nature.  He  thought 
of  it  by  day,  and  dreamed  of  it  by  night ;  and,  by 
constantly  endeavoring  to  bring  his  designs  to  perfec 
tion,  succeeded  at  last  to  his  own  satisfaction,  and 
the  surprise  of  others :  we  say  to  their  surprise, 
because  we  are  not  in  the  habit  of  seeing  one  man 
make  himself  familiar  with  every  subject  of  a  science, 
and  inquire  into  all  its  particulars,  in  any  other  way 
than  by  studying  at  home,  and  depending  in  part  on 
the  authority  of  others. 

Whoever  reads  Mr.  Audubon's  account  of  his 
various  tours  will  see  that  he  had  a  mind  which,  in 
the  midst  of  its  devotion  to  a  single  object,  found 
time  to  meditate  upon  all  that  was  before  him.  When 
he  embarked  on  the  Ohio,  in  his  own  boat,  with  his 
wife  and  his  infant  son,  he  is  very  eloquent  in  his 
description  of  the  beauty  of  the  river.  It  was  in  Oc 
tober,  in  the  season  called  in  this  country  the  Indian 
summer,  when  the  early  frosts  are  over,  and  winter, 
after  having  given  a  gentle  warning  of  his  coming, 
suspends  his  step,  as  if  unwilling  to  destroy  the  glory 


BIOGRAPHY    OF    BIRDS.  179 

of  the  year.  The  trees  had  put  on  their  rich  and 
glowing  colors,  which,  with  the  wild  garlands  of  the 
vine  that  covered  them,  were  darkly  reflected  in 
the  waters.  The  haze  that  covered  the  landscape 
softened  its  lines  and  shadows,  melting  down  the 
brightness  of  the  sun,  and  changing  the  pale  waning 
moon  into  a  golden  semicircle,  seen  as  distinctly  in 
the  stream  as  in  the  sky.  The  ripple  of  their  boat 
was  the  only  sound  which  broke  the  silence,  except 
when  some  large  fish  sprang  upwards  in  pursuit  of  a 
shoal  that  darted  out  like  silvery  arrows,  and  fell  in 
a  little  shower  of  light.  At  evening  they  heard  the 
distant  tinkling,  as  the  cattle  were  returning  to  their 
homes,  and  saw  the  shadows  mysteriously  darken  the 
shores.  As  the  night  fell,  they  caught  the  sound  of 
the  boatman's  horn,  as  it  came  softened  almost  into 
music  by  the  distance,  and  at  times  heard  the  solemn 
hooting  of  the  great  owl,  or  the  muffled  noise  of  its 
wings,  as  it  sailed  gently  across  the  stream.  We  give 
the  substance  of  this  description,  in  order  to  show 
our  readers  in  what  scenes  his  fancy  was  kindled 
and  his  taste  formed.  He  had  here  the  charm  of 
solitude,  together  with  the  society — which,  for  the 
time,  he  was  anxious  to  secure  —  of  that  race  which 
had  excited  in  him,  from  his  earliest  years,  an  interest 
deeper  than  man  is  often  fortunate  enough  to  inspire 
in  man. 

But  Mr.  Audubon  affords  us  the  contrast  to  this 
picture  of  solitude  without  desolation.  Our  readers 
have  doubtless  seen  extracted  in  many  of  our  papers 
an  account  of  his  adventure  in  a  cabin,  on  his  return 
from  the  upper  Mississippi.  He  was  crossing  a  prai- 


180  BIOGRAPHY    OF    BIRDS. 

rie ;  and,  in  taking  shelter  in  this  hut  for  the  night, 
he  happened  to  display  his  watch  to  the  landlady, 
who  immediately  devised  measures  to  secure  it  for 
herself,  by  removing  him  to  a  world  where  measures 
of  time  are  not  wanted.  She  was  prevented  by  the 
seasonable  arrival  of  two  travellers,  armed  as  usual 
in  such  journeys,  who  aided  to  secure  her  with  her 
two  sons.  These,  however  well  disposed  to  aid  her, 
seem  to  have  been  at  that  time  in  no  state  to  profit 
by  her  maternal  instructions.  For  this  design  to 
murder,  the  wayfarers  burned  down  the  cabin,  gave 
the  furniture  to  an  Indian  who  had  warned  Mr.  Au- 
dubon  of  his  danger,  and  justified  the  delinquents 
after  the  manner  of  the  Regulators,  a  kind  of  extem- 
poral  police  established  by  volunteers  to  supply  the 
defective  shortness  of  the  arm  of  the  law.  When 
an  individual  is  discovered  to  have  committed  an 
offence  of  this  or  any  other  dangerous  description,  a 
court  of  rather  a  popular  character  assembles,  and 
takes  the  case  into  serious  consideration  ;  the  accused 
is  arrested  and  brought  before  them,  his  character 
and  proceedings  sharply  investigated ;  and,  if  the 
verdict  of  his  peers  pronounce  him  guilty,  he  is 
advised  as  a  friend  to  seek  out  some  other  climate 
more  favorable  to  his  constitution.  As  there  may  be 
some  little  want  of  formality  in  the  movements  of 
the  court,  and  the  evidence  may  be  at  times  deficient 
in  precision,  they  judiciously  lean  to  the  side  of 
mercy.  In  such  cases,  it  is  thought  better  for  the 
suspected  person  to  take  the  hint,  and  transport  him 
self  beyond  the  bounds  of  their  jurisdiction ;  but,  if 
he  choose  to  remain,  and  is  found  repeating  his 


BIOGRAPHY    OF    BIRDS.  181 

transgressions,  at  the  next  term  of  the  court  he  is 
put  on  trial,  and  severely  punished  if  guilty.  In 
many  cases,  the  punishment  is  inflicted  by  castigation 
of  the  person,  and  destroying  his  house  by  fire,  as  in 
the  instance  of  the  lady  above  mentioned.  Some 
times  it  is  thought  necessary  to  resort  to  the  punish 
ment  of  death,  in  which  case  the  head  is  affixed  to 
a  pole,  as  a  terror  to  evil-doers.  All  these  punish 
ments  are  found  effectual,  particularly  the  last.  This 
kind  of  legal  process  is  fast  disappearing  from  the 
West.  As  we  have  said,  Mr.  Audubon  affords  us 
the  contrast  to  his  pictures.  On  the  spot  where  the 
soul  of  the  ornithologist  had  so  nearly  taken  flight, 
are  found  taverns,  those  outposts  of  civilization,  and 
roads  and  cultivated  fields,  all  redeemed  from  the 
wilderness  in  the  short  space  of  fifteen  years.  Now 
the  axe  is  heard  ringing  from  the  banks  of  the  rivers, 
and  the  fire  by  night  clears  out  a  path  through  the 
oceans  of  wood ;  the  elks,  deer,  and  buffaloes  are 
passing  to  other  regions ;  our  Government  is  aiding 
the  cause  in  its  own  way,  by  grinding  the  Indians  to 
powder,  preaching  all  the  while  of  mercy,  justice, 
and  protection  ;  words  which  make  those  who  un 
derstand  our  language  decamp  with  all  possible 
expedition.  But  we  will  not  dwell  on  those  surpris 
ing  changes,  which  Mr.  Flint  has  made  familiar  in 
one  of  the  most  interesting  works  ever  published 
in  this  country.  Suffice  it  to  say,  that  as  men,  not 
birds,  are  likely  to  be  gainers  by  this  miraculous 
transformation  of  a  vast  region,  it  is  well  that  Mr. 
Audubon  began  his  pilgrimage  twenty  years  ago. 
We  know  not  where  the  lover  of  a  wilderness  will 
16 


182  BIOGRAPHY    OF    BIRDS. 

go  twenty  years  hence  to  find  the  solitude  he  desires. 
Long  before  that  time,  we  shall  hear  from  travellers 
who  have  dammed  up  with  their  hands  the  parent- 
fountains  of  the  great  western  rivers,  and  shared 
with  the  eagle  his  perch  on  the  highest  turret  of  the 
Rocky  Mountains. 

Mr.  Audubon  gives  us  a  pleasing  picture  of  the 
hospitality  which  prevails  in  the  western  country,  a 
virtue  which  by  no  means  gains  in  the  progress  of 
civilization,  but  is  apt,  on  the  contrary,  to  retreat 
when  the  sign  of  the  tavern  is  displayed  ;  being,  un 
like  many  other  things  in  this  world,  most  abundant 
when  and  where  it  is  most  wanted.  Once,  when 
journeying  with  his  son,  he  chartered  a  wagon  for 
a  portion  of  his  journey  ;  and  the  wagoner,  en 
gaging  to  take  him  by  a  "  short  cut,"  he  had  the 
satisfaction  to  find  himself  exposed  to  a  storm  of 
thunder,  in  a  night  so  dark  that  they  could  not  have 
proceeded,  even  if  they  had  known  the  way,  every 
trace  of  which  was  lost.  While  sitting  disconsolate, 
and  dripping  like  Naiads,  they  determined  to  try, 
since  the  sagacity  of  man  had  brought  them  into 
difficulty,  whether  the  sagacity  of  the  horses  would 
lake  them  out.  They  left  the  animals  to  arrange 
matters  at  their  discretion  ;  and  they  set  forward, 
soon  changing  their  course,  and  bringing  them  to  a 
place  where  they  heard  the  barking  of  dogs,  and 
saw  a  light  through  the  trees.  They  were  soon  re 
ceived  into  the  cabin  of  a  young  couple,  who  were 
delighted  with  the  opportunity  of  giving  them  a 
welcome.  The  negro-boys  were  waked  from  their 
slumbers  ;  and,  while  some  repaired  the  fire,  others 


BIOGRAPHY    OF    BIRDS.  183 

went  forth  to  the  hen-roost,  whence  proceeded  notes 
which  indicated  that  the  poultry  were  bearing  their 
part,  though  reluctantly,  in  the  duties  of  hospitality. 
The  table  was  soon  spread,  but  the  whiskey  was 
wanting  ;  and  the  master  of  the  house,  afflicted  at 
this  destitution,  mounted  his  horse,  rode  through  the 
storm  to  his  father-in-law  three  miles  off,  and  re 
turned  with  a  keg  of  cider.  Mr.  Audubon  says, 
that  his  son,  who  was  about  fourteen  years  old, 
drew  near  to  him,  and  remarked  "  how  pleasant  it 
was  to  have  met  with  such  good  people."  The  cabin 
afforded  but  one  bed  ;  and,  in  spite  of  all  remon 
strances,  the  host  and  his  wife  insisted  upon  making 
a  division  of  its  component  parts,  which  was  done 
accordingly,  and  they  were  soon  put  into  a  sound 
sleep  by  a  long  story  of  the  wagoner,  showing  how 
mysterious  it  was  that  he  should  have  lost  his  way. 
This  temple  of  hospitality  was  constructed  of  logs, 
and  the  floor  formed  of  coarse  slabs  of  tulip-tree. 
A  spinning-wheel  was  standing  in  one  corner  ;  the 
wardrobe  of  the  host  was  suspended  from  the  wall 
on  one  side,  and  that  of  his  wife  from  the  other ;  a 
small  cupboard  contained  a  few  dishes,  cups,  and 
tin  pans.  Every  thing  was  as  neat  as  possible  ;  but 
nothing  indicated  a  condition  above  poverty,  ex 
cept  an  ornamented  rifle.  Nothing  would  induce 
the  inmates  to  accept  present  or  compensation :  they 
detained  the  travellers  as  long  as  possible,  and  gave 
them  up  with  regret.  Truly,  we  should  be  inclined 
to  call  such  a  householder  the  most  remarkable  rara 
avis  of  Mr.  Audubon's  collection  ;  but  there  is  reason 
to  believe,  that  such  liberal  kindness  to  the  stranger 


184 


BIOGRAPHY    OF    BIRDS. 


is  by  no  means  uncommon  in  any  part  of  our  west 
ern  country. 

Our  traveller  appears  to  be  one  of  those  who  can 
make  himself  easy  under  any  circumstances,  and 
therefore  is  not  quite  so  dependent  on  such  atten 
tions  as  many  others  in  the  world.  When  he  was 
patrolling  the  shores  of  Upper  Canada,  he  says  that 
some  person  stole  his  money,  supposing  that  a  na 
turalist  could  do  very  well  without  it.  We  would 
not  defend  the  knavery,  but  the  event  showed  that 
the  thief  was  not  mistaken  in  his  calculation.  "  To 
have  repined,  when  the  thing  could  not  be  helped, 
would  not  have  been  acting  manfully,"  says  Mr. 
Audubon.  It  is  a  manly  sentiment ;  but,  when 
things  can  be  helped,  there  is  no  particular  call  for 
repining.  He  and  his  companion  were  left  with 
seven  dollars  and  a  half,  at  the  distance  of  fifteen 
hundred  miles  from  home.  At  this  time  they  were 
upon  the  water:  when  they  landed,  they  procured  a 
conveyance  for  five  dollars  to  the  town  of  Mead- 
ville,  and  took  lodgings  at  a  tavern  upon  the  way. 
At  night,  they  were  shown  into  a  room  in  which 
there  were  several  beds.  Some  time  after  they  had 
retired,  three  young  girls  came  into  the  chamber, 
and,  having  put  out  the  light,  placed  themselves  in  a 
bed  most  distant  from  theirs.  We  beg  our  English 
readers,  if  such  there  be,  to  take  notice  that  this  was 
not  in  New  York  nor  Boston  ;  and,  in  order  to  re 
lieve  as  far  as  possible  the  fears  of  the  worthy  trav 
ellers  of  that  nation,  we  think  we  can  safely  assure 
them,  that,  if  they  venture  into  the  United  States, 
judging  of  those  who  follow  from  those  who  have 


BIOGRAPHY    OF    BIRDS.  185 

gone  before,  neither  man,  woman,  nor  child  will 
have  the  least  disposition  to  force  themselves  into 
their  society,  either  by  night  or  day.  This  custom  is 
peculiar  to  the  backwoods  ;  and  there  seems  to  be 
some  little  excuse  for  it  in  the  necessity  of  the  case, 
where  the  whole  house  affords  but  one  chamber. 
Mr.  Audubon  had  thrown  out  a  hint  concerning 
portrait-painting ;  and  the  damsels,  supposing  the 
travellers  asleep,  descanted  concerning  the  taking  of 
portraits,  explaining  to  each  other  how  delightful  it 
would  be  to  see  their  own.  In  the  morning  he  com 
menced  the  sketches,  and,  beside  paying  for  his  lodg 
ing,  had  the  satisfaction  of  making  some  young  hearts 
happy.  When  they  arrived  at  Meadville,  he  took  his 
portfolio  under  his  arm,  and,  after  walking  the  streets 
awhile,  begged  permission  to  rest  in  a  shop  :  it  was 
granted,  and,  as  a  matter  of  course,  the  contents  of 
the  portfolio  shown  to  the  trader,  who  not  only  con 
tracted  for  a  portrait  of  himself,  but  offered  to  find 
him  as  many  sitters  as  were  wanted.  He  procured 
a  painting-room  ornamented  with  hogsheads  of  oats, 
rolls  of  sole-leather,  a  drum  and  bassoon  in  the  cor 
ner,  fur  caps  along  the  wall,  and  a  clerk's  bed, 
swinging  like  a  hammock,  near  the  centre.  Here 
he  closed  the  windows  with  blankets  to  secure  a 
painter's  light,  and  sketched  his  sitters  much  to  their 
satisfaction.  The  result  was,  that  his  pockets  grew 
heavy  and  his  heart  light.  At  the  ordinary  of  the 
public  house,  Mr.  Audubon,  being  taken  for  a  mis 
sionary,  on  account  of  his  flowing  hair,  was  asked 
to  say  grace,  which  he  says  he  did  with  a  fervent 
spirit.  His  pursuits  seem  to  have  had  the  right 

16* 


186  BIOGRAPHY    OF    BIRDS. 

and  natural  effect  upon  his  feeling ;  for  he  tells  us, 
that  he  never  has  despaired  of  divine  protection,  while 
engaged  in  studying  the  grand  and  beautiful  works 
of^God. 

Among  the  entertaining  incidents  of  his  narrative, 
we  find  an  account  of  his  meeting  with  Daniel  Boon, 
the  celebrated  patriarch  of  Kentucky.  He  happened 
to  pass  a  night  under  the  same  roof  with  this  remark 
able  man.  Every  thing  about  him,  Mr.  Audubon 
remarks,  was  striking.  His  stature  approached  the 
gigantic  ;  his  form  indicated  great  personal  strength  ; 
and  his  countenance  bore  an  expression  of  thought- 
fulness  and  resolution.  At  night,  when  Mr.  Audu 
bon  undressed  as  usual,  he  merely  took  off  his 
hunting-shirt,  and  spread  a  blanket  on  the  floor, 
which,  he  said,  he  preferred  to  the  softest  bed.  He 
told  Mr.  Audubon,  that,  many  years  before,  he  was 
taken  prisoner  by  a  party  of  Indians;  bound,  and 
carried  to  their  camp,  where  he  was  frankly  assured, 
by  signs  sufficiently  expressive,  that  the  next  day 
would  put  an  end  to  his  mortal  cares.  The  ladies  of 
the  party  searched  his  dress,  and,  much  to  their  satis 
faction,  laid  their  hands  on  a  flask  of  monongaliela, 
now  a  historical  name,  but  then  the  designation  of 
very  strong  whiskey.  They  drank  freely  of  its  con 
tents,  till  the  distant  sound  of  a  gun  roused  them  ; 
and  the  warriors  immediately  went  to  ascertain  the 
cause,  leaving  his  fair  guardians  to  their  vigils  and 
their  whiskey.  Fortunately  for  him,  they  showed  a 
decided  preference  for  the  latter,  to  which  they  paid 
such  unceasing  attention  that  they  were  soon  asleep. 
He  then  rolled  himself  to  their  fire,  where  he  burned 


BIOGRAPHY    OF    BIRDS.  187 

off  his  cords,  and  seized  his  rifle.  He  was  strongly 
tempted  to  return  evil  for  good  to  his  snoring  body 
guard ;  but  he  resisted,  and,  after  striking  two  or 
three  chips  with  a  tomahawk  from  an  ash-tree,  in 
order  to  mark  the  spot,  he  departed  in  peace. 

Thirty  years  after  this,  when  Col.  Boon  had  re 
treated  before  the  approaching  deluge  of  population, 
a  person  removed  into  Kentucky,  where  he  laid 
claim  to  a  large  tract  of  land,  one  of  the  corners  of 
which  was  marked,  as  the  deed  ran,  "  by  an 
ash,  which  was  notched  by  three  blows  from  the 
tomahawk  of  a  white  man."  The  object  was  to 
find  this  tree,  in  order  to  ascertain  the  boundary  of 
the  land.  But  the  tree  had  grown,  and  the  wood 
had  covered  the  scars :  no  trace  of  it  could  be  found. 
Under  these  circumstances,  the  owner,  who  had  heard 
of  Col.  Boon's  adventure,  sent  to  him  to  come,  and 
ascertain,  if  possible,  the  situation  of  the  tree.  Hav 
ing  no  particular  professional  business  nor  domestic 
cares  to  detain  him  at  home,  the  veteran  came  as 
desired.  Every  thing  was  changed  in  the  country; 
but,  having  formed  a  party,  and  waited  for  the  moon 
to  rise,  he  endeavored  to  find  the  spot  where  the 
Indians  had  encamped ;  and  having,  as  he  thought, 
succeeded,  they  remained  there  till  the  break  of  day. 
When  it  was  light,  he  examined  the  spot,  and  declared 
that  an  ash,  then  in  sight,  was  the  one.  Proper  wit 
nesses  being  brought,  he  struck  the  bark :  no  signs 
were  seen ;  he  then  cut  deep  into  the  tree,  and  at 
last  found  the  distinct  marks  of  the  three  notches, 
covered  with  thirty  years'  growth  of  wood.  He  was, 
when  Mr.  Audubon  saw  him,  on  his  return  to  his 


188 


BIOGRAPHY    OF    BIRDS. 


favorite  solitudes.  This  was  a  surprising  effort  of 
memory,  when  we  consider  what  a  near  resemblance 
one  such  spot  bears  to  another,  and  what  a  difference 
the  hand  of  man  soon  makes  in  them  all.  Mr.  Au- 
dubon  saw  the  old  hunter  perform  the  favorite  Ken 
tucky  feat  of  barking-  off  a  squirrel.  He  pointed  to 
a  squirrel  on  a  tree  at  the  distance  of  fifty  paces, 
raised  his  piece  slowly ;  and,  at  the  moment  of  the 
sharp,  whip-like  report,  the  bark  immediately  under 
the  animal  flew  off  in  splinters,  and  the  squirrel  was 
whirled  into  the  air,  from  which  it  fell  dead.  The 
dress  of  this  "stoic  of  the  woods"  was  a  homespun 
hunting-shirt ;  his  feet  were  defended  with  moccasons, 
and  his  legs  bare.  It  is  difficult  to  explain  the  fas 
cination  of  savage  life  ;  but  there  are  more  examples 
than  one,  which  prove  that  it  is  much  more  difficult 
to  tame  the  wild  than  to  make  a  savage  of  the  civil 
ized  man.  It  cannot  be  ascribed  to  an  aversion  to 
restraint ;  for  such  men  as  this  are  in  general  self- 
denying  in  every  respect.  There  must  be  some 
delight  in  the  excitement  of  solitude,  independence, 
and  adventure,  which  strangers  to  them  cannot  under 
stand.  When  the  gates  of  the  West  were  first  thrown 
open,  they  were  thronged  with  many  such  adven 
turers,  who  pushed  their  way  through  the  deep  forests, 
guided  by  the  sun  by  day,  and  sleeping  at  night  by 
their  fires.  Their  furniture,  and  in  fact  all  their  wealth, 
consisted  of  an  axe  and  the  all-important  rifle  :  these, 
with  their  horses,  were  all  their  preparation,  except 
we  take  into  account,  Avhat  was  worth  all  the  rest,  a 
bold  and  resolute  heart.  Their  way  was  beset  with 
the  Indians,  who  seem  to  have  had  prophetic  misgiv- 


BIOGRAPHY    OF    BIRDS.  189 

ings,  that  all  these  movements  boded  no  good  to 
them,  and  who  had  the  advantage  of  matchless  cun 
ning,  and  perfect  familiarity  with  the  country.  Others, 
who  carried  more  baggage  with  them,  built  arks  on 
the  rivers,  which,  like  that  of  Noah,  were  filled  with 
all  manner  of  living  things,  but  not  equally  secure  of 
divine  protection  ;  for  the  heavy-laden  vessel  floated 
lazily  down  the  stream,  in  silence  by  day,  and  with 
out  light  or  fire  by  night,  lest  they  should  be  dis 
covered  by  the  enemy  on  the  shores.  When  the 
voyage  or  the  journey  was  over,  a  shelter  was  to  be 
provided,  the  soil  to  be  subdued,  and  the  enemy 
repelled.  It  is  not  strange  that  many  became  at 
tached  for  life  to  adventure,  when  for  years  there 
was  not  a  moment  in  which  they  could  lay  aside  their 
arms.  Wherever  a  settlement  has  been  made  in  the 
deserts  of  our  country,  it  has  been,  both  at  the  East 
and  West,  established  in  the  face  of  many  dangers, 
threatened  by  the  wild  inhabitants  ;  but  there  are 
some  indications  in  our  history  of  late,  which  show 
that  it  was  easier  to  gain  than  it  is  now  to  refrain 
from  abusing  our  power. 

Beside  the  opportunity  of  becoming  acquainted 
with  man  under  wild  and  peculiar  circumstances, 
Mr.  Audubon  has  had  the  advantage,  which  as  a 
naturalist  he  doubtless  appreciates,  of  witnessing 
several  convulsions  of  nature.  He  does  not  men 
tion  the  years  ;  but  we  remember,  that,  about  twenty 
years  ago,  earthquakes  became  unpleasantly  abun 
dant  in  the  South  and  West.  It  vras  probably  at 
that  time  that  he  was  one  day,  when  riding,  sur 
prised  by  a  darkness  in  the  heavens.  Being  as  much 


190  BIOGRAPHY    OF    BIRDS. 

accustomed  to  thunderstorms  as  the  birds  themselves, 
he  took  but  little  notice  of  it  further  than  to  urge  his 
horse  forward  ;  but  the  animal  paid  no  regard  to 
his  recommendation,  and,  instead  of  advancing, 
planted  his  feet  deliberately  and  firmly  upon  the 
ground.  The  rider  was  upon  the  point  of  dismount 
ing  to  lead  him,  when  the  horse  began  to  groan, 
hung  down  his  head,  and  spread  out  his  limbs  as 
widely  as  possible.  He  was  entirely  at  a  loss  to 
know  what  all  this  might  mean,  and  could  only  sup 
pose  that  the  animal  was  suddenly  seized  with  mor 
tal  agony ;  when  the  earth  began  to  roll,  the  shrubs 
and  trees  rocked  and  waved  before  him,  and  the 
convulsive  shuddering  of  the  whole  frame  of  nature 
made  it  evident  that  an  earthquake  was  passing  by. 
Shocks  succeeded  each  other  for  several  weeks ;  and 
as  most  of  the  houses  were  by  no  means  towering 
structures,  he  became  familiar  with  the  prospect  of 
being  buried  under  their  ruins.  One  night,  after 
attending  a  wedding,  he  slept  in  the  house  of  a  phy 
sician,  which  was  constructed  of  logs,  and  large 
enough  to  receive  a  considerable  number  of  persons. 
At  night,  the  earthquake  lifted  up  its  voice  in  such  a 
manner  that  all  started  from  their  slumbers,  and 
rushed  out,  without  waiting  for  the  ceremony  of  the 
toilet,  or  even  taking  care  to  secure  any  drapery  at 
all.  The  clouds  were  floating  wildly  past  the  full 
moon,  the  trees  waving  like  grass  in  the  breeze, 
when  the  doctor,  his  prudence  getting  the  better  of 
his  fears,  ran  to  save  his  gallipots,  which  were  dan 
cing  on  their  shelves  in  an  awful  manner,  and  about 
to  leap  to  the  floor ;  but  arrived  too  late  to  prevent  a 


BIOGRAPHY    OF    BIRDS.  191 

general  wreck.  The  moment  the  danger  was  past, 
and  the  promiscuous  assembly  began  to  consider 
their  defect  of  raiment,  a  consternation  of  a  different 
sort  succeeded,  and  drove  them  back  to  bed  with 
equal  expedition. 

Mr.  Audubon  was  also  fortunate  enough  to  witness 
a  hurricane.  We  say  fortunate,  since  it  crossed 
his  path  without  injury  to  him.  He  describes  it 
admirably,  and  we  wish  we  had  room  to  give  his 
own  full  picture  of  the  scene.  He  saw  in  the  south 
west 'a  yellowish  oval  spot,  and  felt  a  sharp  breeze 
passing,  which  increased  rapidly,  tearing  away  twigs 
and  smaller  branches  from  the  trees,  till  the  whole 
forest  was  in  dizzy  motion.  The  largest  trunks  of 
the  wood  were  bent,  and  at  last  broken.  The  stormy 
whirlpool  carried  thick-rolling  masses  of  foliage  and 
boughs,  together  with  a  cloud  of  dust ;  and  the 
gigantic  trees  were  seen  writhing  and.  groaning,  as 
if  in  agony,  for  a  moment,  when  they  fell  in  shape 
less  heaps  of  ruin.  This  great  work  of  destruction 
was  over  soon  ;  but  a  shower  of  small  branches 
followed  in  its  wake,  as  if  drawn  onward  by  some 
mysterious  power ;  the  sky  had  a  lurid,  greenish  hue, 
and  the  atmosphere  was  filled  with  a  sulphury  smell. 
The  path  of  this  tornado  extended  many  hundred 
miles.  Mr.  Audubon  was  on  horseback  this  time, 
as  well  as  before  ;  but  the  animal  betrayed  no  alarm. 
The  reason,  doubtless,  of  his  perceiving  the  earth 
quake  so  much  earlier  than  his  master,  was  that  his 
feet  were  on  the  ground,  and  his  rider's  were  not ; 
and,  had  they  been  in  the  same  circumstances,  the 
biped  would  probably  have  been  less  affected  than 


192  BIOGRAPHY    OF    BIRDS. 

the  animal,  who  was  shaken  at  four  points  instead 
of  two. 

We  have  given  this  general  account  of  the  work 
before  us,  to  show  the  variety  of  entertaining  sub 
jects  which  the  writer  has  introduced ;  and  we  com 
mend  his  judgment  in  so  doing.  It  takes  from  the 
scientific  air  of  the  work,  and  offers  an  attraction  to 
a  greater  number  of  readers.  It  also  serves  to  show 
through  how  many  and  various  scenes  he  has  passed 
in  his  wanderings,  and  thereby  gives  a  livelier  im 
pression  of  the  enthusiasm  and  resolution  which  such 
an  enterprise  requires.  On  one  occasion,  his  forti 
tude  was  severely  tried.  Having  secured  two  hun 
dred  of  his  original  drawings  in  a  wooden  box,  he 
left  them  in  the  care  of  a  friend,  during  his  absence 
on  a  journey.  When  he  returned,  he  re-claimed  his 
treasure,  and  found  that  a  couple  of  Norway  rats, 
acting  doubtless  on  the  principle  that  "  a  living  dog 
is  better  than  a  dead  lion,"  had  gnawed  his  papers 
to  pieces,  and  feathered  their  nest  with  one  thousand 
painted  inhabitants  of  the  air.  This  was  a  severe 
blow ;  and  many  men  under  it  would  have  forsworn 
the  pursuit  for  ever.  But  Mr.  Audubon  thought,  as 
Bottom  did,  that  "  what  could  not  be  endured  must 
be  cured ;  "  and,  after  a  short  period  of  suffering, 
took  his  gun,  note-book  and  pencils,  and  went  forth 
into  the  woods  again.  Nothing  daunted  him,  where 
he  could  revive  his  strength  by  communion  with 
nature ;  but,  when  he  was  on  the  way  to  England, 
and  when  first  walking  the  streets  of  Liverpool, 
he  says  that  his  heart  almost  failed  him,  and  that  he 
longed  to  retreat  into  the  woods.  But  this  desolate 


BIOGRAPHY    OF    BIRDS.  193 

feeling  only  made  the  kindness  of  enlightened  men 
in  that  city,  which  was  freely  given  to  him,  more 
animating  and  delightful.  After  receiving  the  most 
encouraging  attentions  there,  he  proceeded  to  Edin 
burgh,  where  his  reception  was  equally  flattering; 
and  there  he  commenced  the  publication  of  his 
"  Illustrations. "  It  would  have  been  continued 
there,  had  not  his  engraver  advised  him  to  seek  an 
artist  in  London. 

Mr.  Audubon,  we  observe,  addresses  a  word  to 
critics ;  but  these  are  works  with  which  critics  have 
not  much  to  do,  or  with  respect  to  which  they  can 
only  discharge  that  part  of  their  duty  which  is  gen 
erally  thought  to  give  them  least  pleasure,  —  we 
mean,  praise.  No  one  can  see  these  splendid  draw 
ings,  and  compare  them  with  the  ordinary  illustra 
tions  of  natural  history,  —  in  which  animals  appear 
as  spiritless  as  if  they  had  been  sitting  for  their 
portraits,  —  without  admiring  his  taste  and  skill. 
Instead  of  a  solitary  individual,  we  have  here  groups 
of  each  kind,  in  all  the  attitudes  of  life  ;  and,  as  the 
plumage  of  birds  is  often  entirely  changed  in  passing 
from  youth  to  maturity,  as  the  female  also  generally 
differs  very  much  iu  color  from  the  male,  a  single 
representation  would  be  of  little  value.  We  might, 
easily  criticize  the  drawing  and  coloring  in  some 
small  respects,  and  say  that  it  differs  from  our  limited 
observation ;  but  the  obvious  reply  is,  that  he  has 
seen  hundreds  where  we  have  seen  one.  The  his 
tory  of  the  birds  of  our  country  is  still  imperfect ; 
and  whoever  undertakes  to  reduce  it  to  a  system 
will  find  every  new  explorer  correcting  some  of  his 
17 


194  BIOGRAPHY    OF    BIRDS. 

errors.  What  he  describes  as  the  constant  habits  of 
a  class  may  appear  to  be  only  accidental  peculiarities 
of  individuals  ;  and,  as  birds  are  affected  by  climate, 
food,  and  various  other  circumstances,  the  result  of 
many  observations  will  be  exceedingly  apt  to  over 
turn  the  theories  and  systems  built  upon  a  few.  We 
do  not,  therefore,  complain  of  the  want  of  systematic 
order  in  the  arrangement  of  the  subjects  of  this  work  : 
at  present,  there  would  be  no  advantage  in  such  an 
undertaking.  But,  when  this  great  work  is  com 
pleted,  we  think  Mr.  Audubon  will  do  well  to  follow 
his  own  suggestion,  and  to  give  a  systematic  view  of 
the  American  birds,  and  his  own  contributions  to  the 
known  number.  It  is  well  that  the  world  should 
know  the  exact  value  of  his  labors,  before  he  gives 
the  work  over  to  other  hands. 

The  science  of  ornithology  is  indebted  to  Mr. 
Audubon  for  the  discovery  and  description  of  an 
eagle,  to  which  he  has  appropriately  given  the  name 
of  Washington.  It  is  the  largest  and  most  powerful 
of  all  the  race  of  birds.  Mr.  Nuttall  suspects  that  it 
may  exist  in  Europe,  and  be  the  same  with  the  great 
sea-eagle  described  by  Brisson,  which,  in  size  and 
plumage,  resembles  this  species  more  than  any  other. 
Mr.  Audubon  first  met  with  it,  when  engaged  in  a 
trading  voyage  on  the  upper  Mississippi.  An  intel 
ligent  Canadian,  on  seeing  this  bird  floating  above 
them,  remarked  that  it  was  the  great  eagle,  and  the 
only  one  he  had  seen  since  he  left  the  lakes.  He 
described  it  as  a  bird  which  built  its  nest  in  shelves 
of  rocks,  and  lived  by  fishing,  like  the  fishing-hawk, 
sometimes  following  the  hunters  to  secure  the  ani- 


BIOGRAPHY    OF    BIRDS.  195 

mals  they  slew.  Mr.  Audubon  was  convinced  from 
this  account  that  the  bird  was  undescribed,  and  says 
that  the  feelings  of  Herschel,  when  he  discovered 
his  planet,  must  have  been  less  rapturous  than  his 
own. 

But  several  years  passed  before  he  encountered  it. 
again.  He  was  one  day  engaged  in  collecting  cray 
fish,  near  Green  river,  in  Kentucky,  where  a  range 
of  high  cliffs  approaches  the  stream,  when  he  found 
traces  of  an  eagle,  which  his  companion  said  was 
the  bald  eagle  in  its  immature  state.  Mr.  Audubon, 
knowing  that  this  species  builds  in  trees,  and  not  on 
the  rocks,  was  persuaded  that  this  was  an  error  : 
his  companion  maintained  the  contrary,  and  assured 
him  that  he  had  seen  the  old  eagle  dive,  and  catch  a 
fish.  This  also  was  unlike  the  bald  eagle,  which,  as 
all  know,  gets  his  living  in  a  less  honest  way.  Not 
being  able  to  decide  the  point,  they  agreed  to  wait 
till  the  old  birds  came  to  feed  their  young.  Two 
hours  passed  heavily  away,  when  the  coming  of 
the  parent  was  announced  by  the  loud  hissing  of  the 
two  young  ones,  which  crawled  to  the  edge  of 
the  rock  to  receive  a  fish  which  was  brought  them. 
The  observers  kept  a  profound  silence  ;  but,  when 
the  mother  returned  shortly  after,  also  bearing  a  fish, 
her  quicker  eye  detected  the  spies,  and  she  set  up  a 
loud  scream,  when  both  birds  hovered  over  them 
with  a  growling  cry  till  they  left  the  spot.  When 
they  returned  a  day  or  two  after,  intending  to  scale 
the  cliff*  and  storm  the  nest,  they  found  that  the 
birds  had  anticipated  their  design,  and  that  the 
whole  family  had  retreated.  It  was  not  till  two 


196  BIOGRAPHY    OF    BIRDS. 

years  afterward  that,  he  saw  this  bird  again.  He 
was  near  the  village  of  Henderson,  with  his  double- 
barrelled  gun,  when  he  saw  it  rising  from  an  enclosure 
where  some  animals  had  been  slaughtered,  and  alight 
upon  a  low  tree.  Thence  the  eagle  looked  at  him 
calmly  and  fearlessly,  till  he  fired,  and  it  fell  dead. 
The  bird  which  he  describes  is  an  adult  male,  and 
measures  in  length  three  feet  seven  inches,  in  extent 
ten  feet  and  two  inches.  This  is  a  prodigious  size ; 
but,  among  all  birds  of  prey,  the  female  is  larger  than 
the  male.  If  this  rule  hold  good  here,  and  there  is 
no  reason  to  doubt  it,  we  may  account  for  its  not 
building  on  trees,  as  a  French  writer  explains  the 
reason  of  the  condor's  laying  its  eggs  on  the  naked 
rock,  "  because  the  excessive  sweep  of  its  wings 
makes  it  impossible  for  it  to  enter  the  woods."  Mr. 
Audubon  compares  this  bird  minutely  with  the  sea- 
eagle,  and  shows  wherein  they  differ :  in  the  bird  of 
Washington  the  tail  is  considerably  longer  than  the 
closed  wings ;  in  the  sea-eagle  the  length  is  equal. 
The  sea-eagle  resembles  it  in  most  points,  but  cannot 
be  the  same,  being  merely  the  young  of  the  white- 
tailed  eagle.  Mr.  Nuttall  suggests,  that  a  larger 
species  may  be  confounded  with  this  young  bird  by 
European  naturalists,  a  thing  which  has  often  hap 
pened  in  other  similar  cases. 

Beside  adding  to  the  list  of  our  birds,  Mr.  Audu 
bon  has  increased  our  stock  of  information  concerning 
those  already  known,  by  relating  anecdotes  of  his 
own  intercourse  with  them,  and  facts  in  their  history 
which  had  escaped  all  other  observers.  The  mock 
ing-bird  appears  in  his  description  like  a  new  crea- 


BIOGRAPHY    OF    BIRDS. 


197 


lion  of  fancy.  You  see  him  flying  in  graceful  circles 
round  his  mate,  with  his  eyes  gleaming  with  wild 
delight ;  then  alighting  near  her,  and  bowing  with 
his  wings  lightly  opened,  you  hear  him  pouring  out 
a  concert  of  all  sweet  sounds,  as  if  his  heart  were 
bursting  with  rapture.  When  they  have  made  their 
nest,  if  the  eggs  are  displaced  or  removed  during  the 
short  absences  of  the  mother,  they  breathe  a  low, 
mournful  note,  as  if  in  sympathy  with  each  other. 
They  do  not  fear  the  presence  of  man,  for  they 
know  that  they  have  enemies  more  dangerous  than 
he :  they  come  familiarly  to  the  gardens  and  planta 
tions,  sometimes  perching  on  roofs  and  chimney- 
tops,  and  enchanting  all  who  hear  them  with  their 
unrivalled  song.  One  thing  in  their  history  is  very 
remarkable.  Tt  is  known  that  some  of  them  visit  the 
Eastern  States,  being  seen  occasionally  in  the  vicinity 
of  Boston.  When  these  wanderers  return,  they  are 
instantly  known  by  the  others,  who  attack  them,  as 
if  to  punish  them  for  wishing  to  be  wiser  than  their 
neighbors  ;  and,  instead  of  listening  to  the  story  of 
their  travels,  force  them  to  keep  apart,  at  least  till 
thev  have  ascertained  that  their  manners  are  not,  as 
is  sometimes  the  case,  altered  for  the  worse  by  mak 
ing  the  grand  tour.  We  knew  that  these  sectional 
jealousies  were  tolerably  strong  in  men,  and  why 
wonder  that  they  are  found  in  birds  ?  Really,  the 
creature  that  lacks  discourse  of  reason  might  most 
naturally  be  expected  to  indulge  such  feelings  and 
passions. 

We  have  endeavored  to  give  such  an  account  of 
the  contents  of  this  work  as  would  induce  our  readers 
17* 


198  BIOGRAPHY    OF    BIRDS. 

to  make  themselves  acquainted  with  it,  and  have  not 
said  a  word  respecting  the  doctrine  of  types,  affinities', 
analogies,  progress,  development,  or  quinary  circles. 
If  Mr.  Audubon  had  contented  himself  with  Linnean 
descriptions,  he  would  have  had  the  honor  of  dis 
covering  more  birds  than  readers.  Such  books  as 
Dr.  Lasham's  "  General  History  of  Birds,"  though 
convenient  works  of  reference  for  those  who  are 
acquainted  with  the  subject,  are  not  particularly  fas 
cinating  to  those  who  desire  to  learn.  We  are  not 
so  much  troubled  in  mind,  however,  as  Mr.  Rennie, 
well  known  as  the  author  of  "  Insect  Architecture" 
and  "  Architecture  of  Birds,"  who  is  for  cutting  up 
all  system,  and  casting  it  away :  on  the  contrary,  we 
think  his  own  entertaining  writings  would  be  im 
proved  by  a  little  more  attention  to  arrangement ; 
for,  though  a  work  which  is  nothing  but  index  is 
dry  reading,  a  work  without  index  is  at  times  exqui 
sitely  provoking,  as,  in  reading  the  history  of  France, 
Mezerai  is  less  agreeable  than  Henault.  Classifica 
tion  we  take  to  be  mere  matter  of  convenience  ; 
and,  in  a  collection  of  specimens,  we  certainly  would 
rather  have  the  birds  without  the  labels,  than  the 
labels  without  the  birds.  The  way  to  become  inter 
ested  in  this  study,  and  to  pursue  it  with  success,  is  to 
learn  it  in  the  book  of  nature ;  its  pages  are  full  of 
inspiration  ;  and,  while  the  hundred  volumes  of  sci 
entific  ornithologists  create  no  general  interest  in 
their  favorite  pursuits,  whoever  will  go  into  the 
fields  and  forests,  and  look  about  him  with  an  atten 
tive  eye,  will  study  the  science  most  successfully, 
learning  it  not  by  memory,  but  by  heart. 


199 


MEN  OF  LETTERS  AND  SCIENCE. 

ART.  I. 


Lives  of  Men  of  Letters  and  Science,  who  nourished  in  the  Time 
of  George  the  Third.  By  HENRY,  LORD  BROUGHAM.  Phila 
delphia:  Carey  and  Hart,  1845  ;  12mo,  pp.  295. 

THERE  can  be  no  doubt  that  Lord  Brougham,  how 
ever  he  may  be  estimated  in  future  times  as  a  states 
man,  will  figure  as  one  of  the  most  remarkable  men 
of  the  age  in  which  he  lives.  He  is  chiefly  distin 
guished  for  his  restless,  impatient,  feverish  activity 
of  mind ;  a  trait  not  common  among  the  sons  of 
men,  few  of  whom  have  any  quick  spring  of  action 
within  to  drive  them  to  incessant  exertion,  but  gen 
erally  require  external  inducements  of  interest  or  pas 
sion  to  bring  forth  all  their  powers.  As  an  orator, 
he  has  appeared  pre-eminent  among  the  great,  exert 
ing  a  mighty  influence  in  favor  of  some  essential 
reforms  in  the  government  of  his  country,  which, 
mainly  because  they  were  so  necessary,  were  fiercely 
and  bitterly  resisted.  As  a  lawyer,  he  has  been  pop 
ular  and  successful ;  though  generally  allowed  to  be 
unsuited  to  the  high  judicial  station  for  which  he  was 
thought  the  very  man,  till  he  had  reached  it.  As  a 
lover  of  his  race,  he  is  ever  ready  to  exert  himself  in 


200  MEN  OF  LETTERS  AND  SCIENCE,  ART.  I. 

the  cause  of  humanity,  and  not  more  savage,  perhaps, 
than  is  common  with  the  philanthropists  of  the  day. 
As  a  man,  giving  no  single  impression  of  his  own 
character,  but  hurrying  on  through  perpetual  changes, 
where  neither  praise  nor  censure  can  steadily  follow, 
he  has  been  a  willing  slave  to  impulses  of  any  kind, 
and  particularly  sensitive  to  slights  and  irritations ; 
jealous  of  his  own  standing,  and  needlessly  overbear 
ing  in  defence  of  it ;  so  insolent  and  vindictive  in 
his  usual  tone,  that  self  seems  always  to  enter  into 
his  assertion  of  the  right,  or  condemnation  of  the 
wrong.  It  is  only  by  an  average  of  merits  and  fail 
ings  that  one  can  arrive  at  any  consistent  and  satis 
factory  idea  of  this  great  and  active,  but  not  amiable 
man  ;  who  will  hereafter  be  remembered  with  won 
der  certainly,  but,  if  his  latter  days  shall  be  cast  in 
resemblance  of  the  former,  never  with  admiration  or 
love. 

It  is  well  that  he  has  thus  put  ashore  from  the 
troubled  sea  of  politics,  to  walk  on  the  quiet  sands, 
and  gather  a  few  pearls  from  the  beach.  For  it  is 
clear  that  he  does  not  require  the  stimulus  of  external 
excitement  to  bring  his  mental  energies  into  efficient 
action.  By  a  necessity  of  his  nature,  he  must  work 
in  one  way  or  another  ;  and,  indolence  and  stagnation 
being  thus  out  of  the  question,  he  might  have  done 
as  much  for  the  cause  of  reform  and  humanity  by 
passionless  literary  labors,  as  by  those  fierce  declama 
tions  in  parliament,  in  which  he  seems  full  as  intent 
on  scalping  his  enemies  as  on  defending  the  great 
rights  of  man.  No  one  has  a  broader  discernment 
of  the  merits  of  moral  and  intellectual  questions ;  no 


MEN  OF  LETTERS  AND  SCIENCE,  ART.  I.  201 

one  is  more  fearless  in  battling  prejudice,  or  correct 
ing  established  errors.  In  these  biographical  sketches, 
he  states  his  opinions  in  a  tone  more  respectful  and 
conciliatory  than  ever  before ;  and  the  reader  feels, 
what  indeed  is  everywhere  true,  that  kindness  of 
manner  is  an  essential  grace  to  open  the  path  to  con 
viction.  But  how  far  he  might  be  able  to  lay  per 
manently  aside  his  former  tastes  and  habits  of  thought 
and  feeling ;  how  successfully,  after  riding  the  whirl 
wind,  and  being  himself  the  storm,  he  might  subside 
into  the  repose  of  an  autumn  day ;  how  the  fierce 
leader  of  the  opposition  would  reconcile  himself  to  the 
patient  investigation,  unexciting  interest,  and  calm 
expression  which  beseem  the  literary  life,  —  it  is  not 
easy  to  foretell.  Little  was  indicated  by  his  "  Lives 
of  Statesmen,"  which  were  nothing  more  than  the 
history  of  his  battles,  with  reminiscences  of  his  com 
rades  and  foes.  Neither  are  the  present  sketches 
sufficiently  labored  and  extended  to  be  the  test  of 
success.  Proceeding  from  such  a  hand,  they  must, 
of  course,  bear  marks  of  great  ability ;  but  they  do 
not  show  that  any  great  expense  of  time  or  thought 
has  been  given  to  the  subject,  nor  do  they  enable  us 
to  determine  what  sort  of  literary  man  the  Chancel 
lor  would  have  made. 

One  is  not  a  little  surprised,  on  first  entering  his 
gallery  of  portraits,  to  encounter  the  sharp  and  sar 
castic  visage  of  Voltaire,  with  Rousseau  at  his  side. 
It  is  not  easy  to  see  the  association  which  connects 
him  with  George  the  Third,  either  in  the  way  of  lit 
erature  or  religion,  save  that  the  king  was  the  patron 
of  the  Quaker  gun  with  which  Dr.  Beattie  cannon- 


202  MEN  OF  LETTERS  AND  SCIENCE,  ART.   I. 

aded  the  sceptics,  venerating  it  as  a  miraculous  piece 
of  ordnance,  though  it  was  difficult  to  discover  what 
execution  it  had  ever  done.  To  say  the  truth,  this 
collection  savors  of  the  taste  exhibited  in  Dryburgh 
Abbey,  where  the  Earl  of  Buchan  embellished  the 
ruin  with  busts  of  Socrates,  Sir  Isaac  Newton,  and 
Paul  Jones.  At  the  same  lime,  it  is  certain  that  Vol 
taire  did  live  in  the  time  of  George  the  Third,  and, 
though  not  among  the  ornaments  of  his  court  or  his 

o  O 

reign,  comes  as  near  as  Macedon  to  Monmoulh  ;  and 
no  man  can  gainsay  the  right  of  the  noble  lord  to 
paint  what  portraits  he  pleases.  On  the  whole,  it  is 
as  well  that  he  did  not  begin  with  Johnson,  the  more 
natural  and  prominent  figure  of  the  two,  and  consid 
erably  more  English  than  the  other ;  for  it  is  quite 
clear,  from  his  occasional  allusions  to  the  moralist, 
that  he  has  not  that  sympathy  with  "  brave  old  Sam 
uel"  which  would  give  him  power  to  understand 
him.  He  expresses  great  contempt  for  the  sage's 
want  of  manners ;  a  deficiency,  however,  not  con 
fined  to  that  diseased  and  sorrowful  man  ;  since,  if 
report  speak  true,  it  is  not  quite  supplied  in  some 
high  places  in  England,  even  to  the  present  day. 

Lord  Brougham  is  above  the  affectation  of  para 
dox,  in  dealing  with  Voltaire.  He  does  not,  accord 
ing  to  the  taste  which  so  great  a  genius  as  Carlyle 
has  the  merit  of  introducing,  call  upon  us  to  do  reve 
rence  to  him  as  a  Christian,  saint,  and  martyr.  But 
he  takes  an  ingenious  view  of  the  subject,  contending 
that  whoever  does  not  believe  in  a  God  cannot  be 
guilty  of  blasphemy  against  him,  however  he  may 
shock  the  religious  sentiments  of  men.  But  Voltaire 


MEN  OF  LETTERS  AND  SCIENCE,  ART.  I.  203 

was  no  atheist ;  and,  in  bis  defence,  the  Chancellor 
maintains,  that,  not  believing  in  the  divine  mission, 
perhaps  not  in  the  existence,  of  the  Saviour,  he  can 
not  be  chargeable  with  impiety  on  account  of  his 
ridicule  of  Christ  and  his  religion,  while,  at  the  same 
time,  he  may  be  guilty  of  insult  and  irreverence  to 
wards  men,  by  his  profane  abuse  of  those  subjects 
which  they  hold  most  sacred  and  nearest  to  their 
hearts.  Perhaps  there  is  some  confusion  of  thought 
generally  prevailing  in  relation  to  this  matter :  but 
the  feeling  is  sufficiently  well  defined,  and  it  is  in  sub 
stance  this  ;  that,  whether  a  man  believes  in  the  Chris 
tian  religion  or  not,  there  are  principles  and  affections 
which  have  claim  to  the  deepest  respect  from  every 
good  heart.  Of  these  the  author  of  Christianity 
was,  as  none  deny,  the  best  presentment  and  illustra 
tion.  Whoever  can  find  it  in  himself  to  treat  this 
person  with  contempt  can  have  no  sympathy  with 
these  principles  and  affections ;  and  it  is  on  this 
account,  not  because  he  was  not  convinced  by  the 
arguments  in  favor  of  the  divine  origin  of  the  religion, 
that  Voltaire  has  been  regarded  with  so  much  aver 
sion  in  the  Christian  world. 

At  the  same  time,  we  must  remember  the  circum 
stances  under  which  his  impressions  of  Christianity 
were  formed.  It  was  probably  identified  in  his  mind 
with  a  worldly  and  licentious  priesthood,  who,  though 
notorious  infidels  themselves,  were  believed  to  have 
the  power  of  pardoning  the  transgressions  of  others, 
while  their  own  lives  were  passed  in  the  lowest  depths 
of  sin.  Surrounded,  as  religion  was  in  his  view,  with 
doctrines  the  most  offensive  to  reason,  and  connected 


204  MEN  OF  LETTERS  AND  SCIENCE,  ART.  I. 

with  practices  the  most  revolting,  it  must  have  been 
a  clear  mind  and  heart  which  could  look  through  the 
thousand  folds  of  corruption  that  bound  it,  and  dis 
cern  the  basis  of  substantial  truth  and  excellence 
which  was  then,  and  is  now,  the  foundation  of  its 
strength,  and  the  hiding-place  of  its  power.  Sharp- 
sighted  as  Voltaire  was,  he  was  not  the  man,  in  his 
calmest  estate,  to  take  the  broadest  and  most  philo 
sophical  view  of  moral  subjects.  His  eye  was  more 
quick  to  discern  faults  and  vices  than  to  discover 
and  do  justice  to  merits  and  virtues  ;  so  that,  suppos 
ing  his  life  had  passed  in  quiet,  he  would  not  have 
been  likely  to  see  the  form  and  expression  of  Chris 
tianity  through  the  disguise  which  it  wore.  But,  when 
we  remember  that  his  life,  or  rather  his  earlier  life, 
was  passed  in  storm  and  tempest ;  that  he  was  pain 
fully  sensitive  to  every  thing  like  insult  and  irritation  ; 
that  he  had  the  winning  ways  which  are  sure  to  bring 
a  perfect  shower  of  these  blessings  on  his  head ;  and 
that,  so  far  from  pretending  to  be  insensible,  he 
invited  new  pelting  by  making  it  manifest  that  every 
missile  told,  —  it  is  not  very  surprising  that  he  did 
not  distinguish  carefully  between  Christianity  and 
Christians,  nor  that  he  should  have  ascribed  to  the 
influence  of  their  religion  that  venomous  spirit  of  his 
enemies,  who  professed  to  be  resenting  the  wrongs 
of  their  faith,  while  they  were  in  fact  avenging  their 
own. 

We  do  not  greatly  admire  the  manner  which  Chris 
tians  have  adopted  in  their  treatment  of  unbelievers, 
nor  can  we  wonder  that  the  converts  made  by  it  are 
so  few.  It  very  much  resembles  the  tone  of  the  Ven- 


MEN  OF  LETTERS  AND  SCIENCE,  ART.  I.  205 

erable  in  Tucker's  "  Vision  :  "  —  "  '  I  am  suspicious 
that  my  boy  does  not  fully  comprehend  you.'  '  No  ? ' 
said  he :  'he  must  be  a  blockhead,  a  numbskull, 
not  to  say  a  beetle,  a  blunderbuss,  if  he  does  not.' 
'  Oh !  yes,'  said  I,  '  the  doctor  has  made  the  matter 
clear  as  the  sun.'  '  This  manner  of  clearing  up 
difficulties  has  been  the  one  generally  resorted  to ; 
but,  efficient  and  decided  as  it  seems,  it  is  far  more 
satisfactory  to  those  who  employ  it  than  to  the  sin 
ners  whom  it  is  meant  to  enlighten  ;  and  we  cannot 
perceive  that  the  tendency  to  infidelity  is  materially 
diminished,  vigorously  as  it  has  been  applied  in  the 
Christian  world.  Strange  though  it  seem,  we  may 
rage  and  fret  against  infidels,  without  giving  them 
any  vivid  idea  of  the  beauty  of  holiness ;  and  the 
more  we  rate  them  for  their  stupid  insensibility,  the 
less  value  do  they  seern  to  set  on  Christian  gentle 
ness  and  love.  Moreover,  the  world  has  become  so 
accustomed  to  this  manner  of  dealing  with  them, 
that,  whenever  the  Christian  advocate  opens  his  lips, 
they  take  it  for  granted  that  such  is  his  tone.  Sym 
pathy,  which  has  thus  been  sent  over  to  the  wrong 
side,  feels  for  them  before  they  suffer  wrong.  If  the 
believer  simply  says  that  his  opinions  differ  from 
theirs,  it  is  taken  for  grievous  persecution ;  so  that, 
perhaps  from  experience  of  the  uselessness,  not  to 
say  the  injurious  effect,  of  their  former  course,  the 
defenders  of  the  faith  may  perhaps  at  last  remember 
the  advice  of  Gamaliel,  —  to  which  they  have  paid 
every  compliment  except  that  of  minding  it,  —  "  Re 
frain  from  these  men,  and  let  them  alone." 

Lord  Brougham  takes  ground  upon  the  subject  of 

18 


206  MEN  OF  LETTERS  AND  SCIENCE,  ART.  I. 

punishing  blasphemy  and  infidel  assaults  upon  reli 
gion  ;  contending,  —  and  he  is  confirmed  by  all  ex 
perience  in  his  position,  —  that  all  such  revenge,  for 
it  is  little  better,  always  does  more  harm  than  good ; 
a  fact  sufficiently  attested  by  the  state  of  things  in 
his  own  land,  where  such  writings  have  been  kept 
in  demand  by  their  being  thus  outlawed  ;  while  in 
this  country,  where  they  are  neglected  by  the  law, 
they  die  of  themselves  with  marvellous  expedition. 
Every  attempt  to  sustain  religion  in  the  same  way  on 
this  side  the  sea  has  invariably  resulted  in  giving 
notoriety  and  a  degree  of  sympathy  to  those  who 
would  have  been  long  enough  in  obtaining  it  by  any 
means  of  their  own.  We  are  here  informed,  that 
Wilberforce  was  opposed  to  all  prosecutions  for 
offences  of  this  kind ;  rightly  judging,  that  the  Rock 
of  Ages  could  stand  of  itself,  and  it  was  but  dis 
honored  when  it  had  the  appearance  of  receiving 
support  from  the  arm  of  power.  It  is  rather  strange, 
that,  when  the  best  and  wisest  friends  of  Christianity 
have  so  long  been  of  this  opinion,  their  influence 
should  not  have  had  more  effect ;  for  it  is  not  a  new 
impression.  Jeremy  Taylor  says,  that  force  thus 
applied  can  only  make  a  hypocrite,  and  every  time 
this  is  done,  ''instead  of  erecting  a  trophy  to  God 
and  true  religion,  we  build  a  monument  to  the 
devil,"  —  a  piece  of  sepulchral  architecture  as  un 
necessary  as  it  is  undeserved  ;  since,  if  it  be  true 
that  having  one's  own  way  is  favorable  to  long  life, 
and  these  means  of  sustaining  religion  are  certainly 
such  as  that  potentate  most  enjoys,  there  is  no  pros 
pect  of  his  requiring  these  obituary  honors  for  some 
time  yet  to  come. 


MEN  OF  LETTERS  AND  SCIENCE,  ART.  I.  207 

But  all  that  can  be  said  of  the  folly  of  persecuting 
those  who  reject  Christianity  will  not  excuse  Voltaire. 
His  character  is  not  cleared  by  pointing  out  the  sins 
of  his  opposers ;  and  there  is  doubtless  an  impression 
made  and  sustained  by  his  life  and  writings,  that, 
while  he  had  sagacity  enough  to  see  what  Chris 
tianity  really  was  through  all  the  cloud  of  its  corrup 
tions,  his  heart  was  not  in  harmony  with  its  spirit. 
There  was  nothing  within  him  which  answered  to  its 
voice ;  and  it  was  not  so  much  ignorance  of  its  true 
character,  as  a  want  of  sympathy  with  it,  which 
made  him  so  willing  to  undermine  its  foundations  in 
the  minds  and  hearts  of  men.  In  the  "  Pucelle 
d'Orleans,"  which  is  commonly  regarded  as  the  most 
spirited  and  able  of  his  works,  bringing  out  in  full 
energy  those  peculiar  talents  in  which  no  one  ever 
exceeded  him,  there  is  a  taste  for  indecency  so  evi 
dently  hearty  and  inbred,  so  ostentatiously  paraded 
in  every  part,  with  such  a  perfect  indifference  to 
the  detestable  doctrines  he  was  teaching,  that  all  the 
manly  spirit  and  generous  feeling  which  appeared  in 
other  passages  of  his  life  seem  like  irregular  and 
transient  impulses,  and  we  are  persuaded  that  we 
have  here  the  true  presentment  of  his  soul.  And 
sensual,  selfish,  and  detestable  assuredly  it  is ;  full  of 
savage  sneers  at  every  thing  high  and  holy  ;  revel 
ling  with  disgusting  satisfaction  in  those  subjects  on 
which  few  can  bear  to  look,  and  exerting  all  the 
might  of  a  powerful  but  depraved  imagination  to 
efface  the  lines  of  separation  between  vice  and  vir 
tue,  glory  and  shame.  It  is  true,  there  are  other 
works  of  his  which  would  give  a  different  impres- 


208  MEN  OF  LETTERS  AND  SCIENCE,  ART.  T. 

sion  ;  but  he  was  several  years  in  writing  this,  and 
it  is  evidently  the  free  and  natural  outpouring  of  his 
heart.  Is  any  injustice  done  to  Byron  by  looking  to 
Don  Juan  as  a  true  portrait  of  the  man  ?  Is  not  Rous 
seau  to  be  seen  in  his  "  Confessions,"  through  the 
fancy  dress  which  he  endeavors  to  wear  ?  These, 
like  the  "  Pucelle,"  were  the  most  hearty  efforts  of  the 
writers.  If  they  give  wrong  impressions  of  the  seve 
ral  sources  whence  they  originated,  the  authors  have 
none  but  themselves  to  blame  ;  and  surely  none 
would  expect  a  pure  religion  to  find  a  warm  wel 
come  in  such  spirits  as  theirs.  It  is  true,  there  are 
certain  authorities  who  would  persuade  us  that  a 
delight  in  filth  is  a  thing  of  the  outside  merely,  and 
should  be  no  disparagement  to  a  poet's  claim  to  be 
accounted  great  and  good.  But  they  only  succeed 
in  giving  an  unsavory  impression  of  themselves ;  for 
luckily  there  are  such  things  as  common  sense  and 
common  decency  ;  and,  while  this  is  the  case,  the 
world  will  never  believe  them. 

It  seems  ridiculous  enough  to  pretend  that  Voltaire 
was  a  self-forgetful  friend  of  humanity ;  for,  though 
he  made  vigorous  resistance  to  oppression,  it  so  hap 
pened  that  all  the  while  he  was  fighting  his  own 
battles,  and  avenging  his  own  personal  wrongs.  In 
his  time,  the  gilt  and  pasteboard  figure-head  of  roy 
alty  was  in  the  front  of  the  vessel  of  state ;  and  men 
were  under  the  amazing  delusion,  that  the  image 
directed  its  motion,  and  gave  it  most  of  its  power. 
Nothing  could  exceed  the  subserviency  with  which 
intellectual  men  bowed  down  before  it.  A  great 
poet,  after  the  representation  of  one  of  his  own 


MEN  OF  LETTERS  AND  SCIENCE,  ART.  I.  209 

plays,  ventured  to  ask,  as  the  king  was  passing,  "  Is 
Trajan  satisfied  ?  "  and  when  Trajan,  whose  opinion 
was  worthless,  even  if  he  had  activity  of  mind  enough 
to  form  one,  thought  proper  to  hide  his  stolidity  under 
the  form  of  displeasure,  and  refused  to  notice  the 
question,  the  poet  thought  proper  to  die  of  a  broken 
heart. 

Voltaire  was  a  man  of  stronger  spirit;  and,  truly, 
he  had  enough  to  provoke  a  more  patient  man,  in 
the  poor  and  vexatious  injuries  which  the  court  was 
constantly  inflicting  upon  him.  After  the  death  of 
Louis  the  Fourteenth,  he  was  imprisoned,  without 
trial,  for  some  libel  on  the  memory  of  that  prince, 
which  he  was  falsely  charged  with  writing.  After 
having  been  beaten  by  a  poor  creature  of  a  courtier, 
or  rather  by  his  servants,  Voltaire  ventured  to  send 
him  a  challenge  ;  and,  for  this  breach  of  the  privi 
lege  of  men  of  rank  to  be  base  and  cowardly,  he 
was  obliged  to  fly  to  England  to  escape  the  Bastile. 
As  to  his  quarrels  with  individuals,  which  were  num 
berless,  he  could  not  complain  of  the  hot  water  in 
which  he  lived,  since  it  was  he  himself  who  heated 
it ;  but  in  his  intercourse  with  his  superiors,  as  they 
are  so  absurdly  called,  he  appears  to  have  thought  it 
a  proper  concession  to  their  rank  that  they  should 
have  most  of  the  blame  to  themselves.  This  was 
particularly  true  in  regard  to  Frederic  of  Prussia, 
one  of  those  pests  of  mankind  who  are  complimented 
with  the  name  of  Great ;  a  man  of  great  talents 
certainly,  but,  in  private  life,  a  mixture  of  the  mon 
key  and  savage,  and,  like  one  of  Fielding's  charac 
ters,  carrying  a  bit  of  flint  about  with  him  by  way  of 
18* 


210  MEN  OF  LETTERS  AND  SCIENCE,  ART.  T. 

heart.  His  treatment  of  the  poet  was  a  compound 
of  flattery  and  jealous  dislike  :  he  had  sense  enough 
to  know  Voltaire's  immense  superiority  to  himself  in 
all  intellectual  pretension,  and  meanness  enough  to 
hate  him  for  it.  He  appeared  to  think  as  if,  by  pull 
ing  down  Voltaire,  he  could  elevate  himself;  as  if, 
by  causing  the  hangman  to  throw  the  poet's  writ 
ings  into  the  fire,  he  could  throw  some  fire  into  his 
own. 

It  is  inconceivable,  that,  with  the  spirit  which  Vol 
taire  manifested  on  other  occasions,  he  could  have 
submitted  to  all  manner  of  abuse  and  impertinence 
from  Frederic,  as  he  did,  not  in  silence,  but  with 
degrading  humility,  so  long  as  he  was  within  the 
reach  of  the  wild  beast's  claws.  On  the  whole,  he 
received  but  wretched  treatment  from  those  who 
were  above  him  in  the  social  scale  :  had  he  resented 
it  with  a  thousand  times  more  spirit,  he  would  have 
been  not  only  forgiven,  but  worthy  of  praise.  As  it 
was,  he  did  more  than  any  one  else,  not  so  much  by 
direct  effort  as  by  the  brilliancy  of  his  talents,  to 
remove  the  bar  of  separation  between  rank  and  tal 
ent  ;  a  triumph  of  genius,  certainly,  though  it  may 
be  doubted  whether  either  party  gains  much  by  being 
brought  nearer  to  the  other. 

There  were  occasions  when  Voltaire,  forgetting 
himself,  and  having  no  personal  interest  in  the  sub 
ject,  went  forward  in  the  cause  of  justice  and  hu 
manity  with  intrepidity  and  power.  The  case  of 
Galas  is  an  example,  —  an  old  Calvinist,  whose  son, 
shortly  after  becoming  a  Catholic,  committed  suicide 
by  hanging  himself.  A  fanatical  magistrate  threw 


MEN  OF  LETTERS  AND  SCIENCE,  ART.  I.  211 

the  whole  family  into  prison,  accusing  the  father,  a 
feeble  old  man,  of  the  murder  of  his  son,  though  he 
had  treated  with  great  liberality  another  son  who  had 
become  a  Catholic,  and  there  was  not  a  shadow  of 
proof  to  show  that  he  was  in  any  way  connected 
with  the  deed.  The  stupid  populace  took  up  the 
prejudice,  and  raged  against  the  innocent  family; 
while  the  court,  before  which  the  accused  was 
brought,  condemned  the  old  man  to  be  broken  alive 
on  the  wheel,  and  the  parliament  of  Toulouse  con 
firmed  the  proceedings.  After  this  judicial  murder, 
the  family  applied  to  Voltaire  for  aid  and  protection, 
which  he  readily  gave  them ;  and  for  several  years 
he  labored  to  procure  a  reversal  of  the  villanous 
sentence,  setting  himself  against  popular  prejudice 
and  civil  and  ecclesiastical  power  with  a  courage  and 
ability  which  gave  the  Protestants  a  sense  of  security 
which  they  had  not  before.  He  succeeded  so  far  as 
to  save  the  rest  of  the  family,  and  to  bring  them 
pecuniary  compensation  for  their  wrongs.  The  sen 
tence  was  reversed ;  but  the  parliament  unhappily 
was  not  forced  to  acknowledge  the  justice  of  the 
reversal :  whether  they  had  acted  like  fools  or  knaves, 
they  were  permitted  to  sustain  their  reputation,  though 
such  deeds  could  not  be  repeated. 

But  we  give  him  all  praise  for  his  efforts  on  this 
occasion  ;  for  it  was  obviously  one  in  which  self  was 
not  concerned.  The  infusion  of  that  element  was  so 
overflowing  and  excessive,  that,  wherever  it  came,  it 
seemed  to  destroy  his  moral  feeling,  rendering  him 
incapable  of  any  sustained  elevation  of  character,  and 
showing  that,  however  sincere  his  good  feeling  might 


212  MEN  OF  LETTERS  AND  SCIENCE,  ART.  I. 

be,  there  was  no  basis  of  principle  under  it,  and  there 
fore  its  duration  was  not  to  be  trusted.  The  Abbe 
des  Fontaines  had  been  indebted  to  him  for  his 
escape  from  a  disgraceful  charge :  he  was  a  person 
of  scandalous  character,  and  little  deserved  such 
friendly  interposition.  Afterwards,  the  miserable 
creature,  probably  for  the  sake  of  gain,  wrote  a  libel 
on  his  benefactor,  as  indeed  he  did  on  all  who  were 
high  enough  to  be  so  complimented ;  upon  which, 
Voltaire,  though  he  fully  believed  the  man's  inno 
cence,  like  all  others  who  knew  any  thing  about  the 
matter,  reproduced  the  false  charge,  not  only  in  his 
letters,  but  in  one  of  his  poems  ;  thus  endeavoring  to 
seek  revenge  by  repeating  an  accusation  which  he 
himself  had  shown  to  be  untrue.  As  to  this  virtue 
of  truth,  he  was  in  the  habit  of  treating  it  with  very 
distant  respect,  and  without  the  least  approach  to  fa 
miliarity.  When  his  "  Letters  on  England  "  brought 
him  into  trouble,  he  publicly  denied  their  authorship, 
and  ascribed  them  to  the  Abbe  Chauliere,  who  was 
no  longer  living  to  contradict  him.  Whenever  he 
brought  himself  into  a  scrape  by  his  epigrams  and 
lampoons,  he  made  no  scruple  of  disowning  them. 
Though  he  could  not  be  blind  to  the  injustice  of  the 
partition  of  Poland,  still,  in  his  correspondence  with 
Frederic  and  Catherine  at  the  time,  so  far  from 
speaking  what  he  thought,  he  rather  complimented 
those  unscrupulous  picaroons.  Indeed,  he  went  so 
far  as  to  call  the  empress's  share  in  it  "  noble,  use 
ful,  and  just ;  "  terms  as  nearly  as  possible  the  exact 
reverse  of  the  truth,  and  which  no  man  with  a  ves 
tige  of  a  conscience,  one  would  suppose,  could  ever 


MEN  OF  LETTERS  AND  SCIENCE,  ART.  I.  213 

have  thought  of  employing.  With  facts  like  these 
before  us,  it  must  be  a  very  resolute  and  determined 
enthusiasm  which  can  admire  the  character  of  Vol 
taire,  though  no  one  can  deny  that  his  great  and 
various  powers  have  rendered  good  service,  in  many 
respects,  to  the  cause  of  man. 

It  appears  to  us,  that  Lord  Brougham,  probably 
from  a  sense  of  the  injustice  which  has  been  done  to 
Voltaire,  and  a  desire  to  break  through  the  unpleas 
ant  associations  which  his  name  so  generally  awa 
kens,  has  suffered  himself  to  be  carried  to  excess  on 
the  opposite  side,  when  he  says  that  there  is  no  one 
since  Luther  to  whom  the  human  mind  is  more  in 
debted  for  release  from  the  bondage  of  spiritual 
power.  Voltaire's  sarcasm  and  wit  were  marvel 
lous  ;  his  principles,  generally  invisible  to  the  naked 
eye  ;  his  argument,  sufficiently  sparing.  There  are 
no  instances  given  of  bold  defiance  of  authority,  of 
dangers  braved  for  the  sake  of  conscience,  or  of  ear 
nest  eloquence  inspired  by  the  truth  alone.  It  was 
the  unselfish  intrepidity  of  the  brave  Reformer,  his 
doing  and  daring  for  defence  of  the  truth,  and 
his  lofty  disregard  of  all  personal  dangers,  which 
make  mankind  forget  his  faults,  which  were  many, 
and  exalt  him  to  a  place  in  history  glorious,  kingly, 
and  commanding.  If  any  things  similar  to  these 
can  be  found  in  Voltaire's  career,  they  have  escaped 
our  observation.  His  talents,  to  the  full  extent  of 
his  claims,  no  one  wishes  to  deny ;  but  in  the  moral 
elements  of  greatness  he  Avas  desperately  poor  ;  and 
his  biographer  should  not  suffer  himself  or  others  to 
forget,  that  character,  even  with  inferior  powers,  is 


214  MEN  OF  LETTERS  AND  SCIENCE,  ART.  I. 

more  likely  than  the  highest  ability,  without  principle, 
to  insure  a  great  and  lasting  place  in  the  reverence 
of  men. 

The  next  personage  drawn  by  the  Chancellor  is 
introduced  as  a  bitter  enemy  of  Voltaire.  Among 
authors,  this  is  a  very  easy  and  natural  association  ; 
for,  while  the  friendships  of  the  irritable  race  recorded 
in  literary  history  are  few  and  small,  their  quarrels, 
numberless  and  eternal,  are  the  burden  of  almost 
every  page.  In  this  conflict  between  the  man  of 
sarcasm  and  the  man  of  sentiment,  the  former  was 
most  to  blame  ;  since  Rousseau,  who  was  a  score 
of  years  younger,  felt  and  expressed,  at  first,  great 
respect  for  Voltaire,  which  the  latter,  who  enjoyed 
such  homage,  was  not  slow  in  returning.  But 
Rousseau  took  exception  at  some  of  his  opinions  ; 
and  Voltaire,  though  he  declined  all  argument  on 
the  subject,  was  not  pleased  to  have  his  judgment 
called  in  question,  particularly  by  one  who  seemed 
likely  to  carry  a  heavier  gun  in  controversy  than 
himself.  In  sober  reasoning  neither  party  excelled  ; 
but  Rousseau  showed  that  earnestness  and  seeming 
conviction,  before  which  wit  can  maintain  only  a 
light  skirmish,  and  is  sure  to  be  driven  from  the 
ground.  Meantime,  Rousseau  had  taken  arms 
against  the  theatre,  and  was  supposed  by  Voltaire 
to  have  excited  the  Genevans  against  him,  partly 
on  that  account,  and  also  because  of  his  infidelity, 
though  Rousseau  could  hardly  have  preached  from 
that  text  without  bruising  his  own  unbelieving  head. 
The  amount  of  the  whole  was,  that  they  had  become 
jealous  of  each  other  :  R,ousseau  was  wounded  by 


MEN  OF  LETTERS  AND  SCIENCE,  ART.  I.  215 

Voltaire's  grotesque  saying,  that,  when  he  read  the 
eulogies  on  the  savage  state,  he  felt  an  irresistible 
desire  "  to  creep  on  all-fours  ;  "  and  Voltaire  felt  an 
apprehension  lest  the  younger  pretender  might,  by 
dint  of  earnest  eloquence,  work  his  way  to  a  reputa 
tion  greater  than  his  own.  In  1760,  Rousseau  ad 
dressed  to  him  a  crazy  letter,  in  which  he  declared 
that  the  Ferney  theatricals  had  made  his  life  a  burden 
to  him ;  and  charged  to  the  Ferney  influence  his  own 
misery,  proscription,  and  banishment  from  home. 
Voltaire  never  answered ;  the  charge  betokened  too 
much  insanity  to  admit  a  reply  ;  but,  harmless  as  the 
letter  was,  he  resented  the  want  of  veneration  im 
plied  in  writing  it,  and  ever  after  satirized  the  writer 
with  the  greatest  bitterness,  knowing,  without  a  di 
rect  conflict,  how  to  take  the  deepest  revenge. 

It  is  very  difficult  to  form  a  satisfactory  idea  of 
the  character  of  Rousseau ;  for,  though  an  intense 
and  unmitigated  selfishness  was  the  chief  element  in 
it,  he  was  at  times  capable  of  some  display  of  gen 
erosity,  where  it  would  sound  to  his  own  advantage. 
For  example,  he  subscribed  to  the  statue  of  Voltaire, 
greatly  to  the  discomposure  of  him  to  whom  the 
compliment  was  paid ;  and  when  the  old  poet,  in  his 
last  visit  to  Paris,  took  with  him  a  tragedy  for  the 
stage,  which  it  was  anticipated,  naturally  enough, 
would  prove  a  failure,  Rousseau  declared  that  it 
would  be  inhuman  and  ungrateful  in  the  public  not 
to  treat  it  with  respect,  whatever  its  merits  might 
prove  to  be.  The  impression  given  by  his  life  is, 
that  he  was  unsound  of  mind ;  and  yet  the  disease 
was  probably  nothing  more  than  that  voluntary  mo- 


216  MEN  OF  LETTERS  AND  SCIENCE,  ART.   I. 

nomania  which  any  one  may  bring  on  by  making 
self  the  chief  consideration  and  moving  principle  of 
all  his  actions,  looking  at  all  things  only  in  a  selfish 
light,  and  suffering  his  own  shadow  to  darken  every 
thing  on  which  it  is  cast.  Every  feeling,  however 
base,  was  innocent  and  holy,  if  he  thought  proper  to 
indulge  it ;  any  action,  however  guilty  it  might  have 
been  in  another,  was  excusable,  and  even  meritori 
ous,  in  him.  That  common  self-delusion  by  which 
a  man  regards  himself  as  a  peculiar  person,  out  of 
the  pale  of  the  common  law  of  feeling,  amounted  in 
him  to  an  absolution  more  complete  than  false  reli 
gion  ever  gave ;  and  his  conscience,  if  he  ever  had 
one,  the  only  proof  of  which  was  his  share  in  our 
common  humanity,  was  completely  overawed  by  his 
towering  and  stupendous  self-applause.  This,  by  a 
not  unusual  retribution,  became  the  source  of  his 
distress :  he  was  fully  persuaded,  that  the  world  had 
nothing  to  think  of,  and  nothing  to  do,  but  to  look 
after  him  and  his  motions.  If  there  was  anywhere 
a  whisper,  a  smile,  an  obscure  allusion,  or  a  meaning 
word,  he  was  sure  that  it  was  aimed  at  him.  Thus 
he  brooded  over  acts  of  kindness,  as  well  as  over 
things  indifferent,  till  they  seemed  deadly  injuries, 
and  called  up  hatred  and  revenge.  But,  strange  as 
this  disposition  may  seem,  it  will  not  do  to  call  it 
insanity.  Half  the  world  have  these  feelings  at  times ; 
they  might  easily  make  them  permanent  by  deter 
mined  indulgence  ;  and  any  low-spirited  person  who 
abandons  his  mind  to  them  might  become  as  jealous, 
as  fantastic,  as  wayward,  —  in  one  word,  as  much 
of  a  madman,  —  as  Rousseau. 


MEN  OF  LETTERS  AND  SCIENCE,  ART.  I.  217 

It  is  inconceivable  how  any  one  can  study  his 
works  with  deep  interest  after  reading  his  "  Confes 
sions,"  in  which,  by  the  way,  he  resembles  certain 
persons  mentioned  by  Chesterfield,   "  who,  with  a 
modest  contrition,  confess  themselves  guilty  of  most 
of  the  cardinal  virtues."     He  says,  that  in  early  life 
he  had  a  habit  of  lying  on  all  occasions ;  and  his 
later  days,  though  he  asserts  the  contrary,  did  not 
vary  altogether  in  this  respect  from  the  former.     He 
makes  himself  fourteen  or  fifteen  years  old  when  he 
lived  as  footman  in  the  service  of  the  Countess  de 
Vercelles,  from  whom  he  stole  a  riband,  and,  being 
charged  with  it,  to  remove  suspicion  from  himself, 
accused  Marian,  a  fellow-servant,  who  had  shown 
much  friendship  for  him,  and  thus,  through  his  own 
cowardly  selfishness,  destroyed  the  reputation  of  the 
poor  girl,  without  the  least  regard  to  her  tears  and 
appeals  to  his  conscience  and  manly  feeling.     He 
says,  that  he  afterwards  felt  remorse,  when  he  thought 
of  Marian's  ruin  and  distress ;   but  that  his  attach 
ment  for  her  was  the  cause  of  it,  for  he  had  stolen  it 
to  give  to  her,  and  this  was  what  made  him  think  of 
charging  her  with  stealing  it  to  give  to  him.     Lord 
Brougham  shows  that  he  was   probably  eighteen, 
certainly  not  less  than  seventeen,  years  of  age  when 
he  was  guilty  of  this  heartless  deed.     His  character 
was  then  formed,  if  ever  ;   and  we  imagine  it  would 
be  difficult  to  find  in  any  cabinet  of  human  remains 
a  harder  specimen  of  moral  petrifaction.     Through 
out  his  "  Confessions,"  he  is  candid  to  excess  in 
admitting  the  sins  of  other  people,  and  in  the  same 
manner  endeavors  to  throw  a  refined  and  false  col- 

19 


218  MEN  OF  LETTERS  AND  SCIENCE,  ART,  I. 

oring  over  his  own.     The  best  friend  he  ever  had 
was  Madame  de  Warens,  a  generous,  accomplished, 
and  attractive  woman,  though  not  one  of  the  vestal 
virgins ;  who  was  so  disinterested  and  faithful,  that 
her  strange  philanthropy  should  never   have   been 
exposed  by  him.     She  endeavored  to  procure  him 
orders  in  the    Church,  butr  not  succeeding,  found 
him  a  place  with  Le  Maitre>  the  director  of  the 
cathedral  music,  who  treated  him  for  a  year  with 
the  utmost  kindness,  till  he  lost  his  own  office  in 
consequence  of  some  differences  with  the  chapter. 
Rousseau  then  accompanied  him  to  Lyons,  where 
he  fell  down  in  an  epilectic  fit  one  day  in  the  street ; 
and  his  grateful  pupil  took  the  occasion  to  slip  away, 
feeling  no  occasion  to  remain  with  one  who  could 
serve  him  no  longer.    Add  to  this,  his  sending  five  of 
his  own  children  to  the  foundling  hospital,  in  spite 
of  the  tears  of  their  mother,  who,  though  a  coarse 
creature,  was  not  dead  to  nature,  —  and  we  have  an 
exhibition  of  selfishness  as  complete,  and  with  as 
slight  a  sprinkling  of  humanity,  as  can  be  found  or 
dreamed  of  among  the  sons  of  men. 

There  is  a  belief  in  those  who  know  but  little  of 
his  life,  that  he  was  capable  of  generous  actions. 
It  may  have  been  so ;  but,  whatever  they  were,  his 
own  hand,  which  made  the  best  of  every  thing,  has 
not  found  it  convenient  to  record  them.  Of  generous 
expressions,  which  cost  nothing,  he  was  more  liberal ; 
and  he  was  perfectly  prodigal  of  those  fine  senti 
ments  which  have  no  particular  relation  to  place  or 
person,  and  have  not  so  much  of  pledge  or  promise 
in  them  that  he  who  employs  them  is  ever  expected 


MEN  OF  LETTERS  AND  SCIENCE,  ART.  I.  219 

to  make  them  good.     He  must  be  an  eminent  saint 
in  the  estimation  of  those  moralists  who  maintain  that 
one's  instincts  are  always  to  be  followed;  for  self 
was  his  oracle  and  law,  and  there  is  no  instance  of  a 
departure  from  that  moral  standard  on  any  occasion, 
if  we  may  except  his  self-denial  in  not  seeing  Ma 
dame  de  Warens  in  her  poverty  and  sorrow.     She 
had  always  treated  him  with  the  most  affectionate 
kindness,  supporting  him  like  a  mother  for  many  years 
of  his  life,  and  sharing  all  her  resources  with  him 
Avhile  she  had  any  to  bestow  ;  and  when,  through  her 
lavish  expenditure  and  imprudence,  she  was  reduced 
to  the  extremity  of  want,  he  did  not,  though  he  was 
within  a  day's  journey  of  where  she  was,  either  visit 
her  or  write  to  her,  —  "because,"  as  he  says,  "  he 
feared  to  sadden  her  heart  with  the  story  of  his  dis 
asters."     At  this,  the  spirit  of  the  Chancellor,  who 
has  maintained  unwonted  coolness,  waxes  wrathful 
within  him :  "  As  if  she  had  not  real  disasters  of  her 
own,  —  as  if  the  straw  on  which  she  was  perishing 
of  want  offered  not  wherewithal  to  touch  her  more 
nearly  than  the  tale  of  his  fancied  wrongs  and  trum 
pery  persecutions."     Lord  Brougham  thinks,  that  at 
one  time  he  was  certainly  insane  :  if  so,  the  madness 
was  of  his  own  making.     There  is,  however,  no  more 
evidence  of  it  at  one  period  than  another  ;  and,  as  we 
have  said,  any   jealous  man,  absolving  himself,  as 
Rousseau  did,  from  all  moral  restraint,  and  ail  con 
cern  for  the  opinion  of  others,  might  soon  become  as 
wild  and  extravagant,  if  not  as  heartless,  as  he. 

This  testimony  should  be  borne  whenever  his  name 
is  mentioned  ;  because,  though  his  "  New  Heloise," 


220  MEN  OF  LETTERS  AND  SCIENCE,  ART.  I. 

with  all  its  occasional  eloquence  in  the  expression  of 
feeling,  is  too  coarse  and  low  to  find  many  who  will 
plead  guilty  to  enjoying  it  at  the  present  day,  the 
sentimentality  which  it  created  and  fed  still  exists, 
and  exerts  a  fatal  influence  on  many  persons,  teach 
ing  them  to  take  credit  for  tenderness  when  their 
hearts  are  hard  as  the  nether  millstone,  and  blinding 
them  to  the  guilt  and  grossness  of  every  imaginable 
sin.     Many  thus  parade  through  life  in  a  fancy  dress, 
thinking   themselves  the   great  sublime  they  draw. 
They  use  this  sentimentalism  like  a  gauze  handker 
chief  tied  over  their  eyes,  which  hides  from  them  only 
wrhat  they  do  not  choose  to  see,  and  affords  an  excuse, 
such  as  has  served  Rousseau  through  two  genera 
tions,  for  the  unworthy  paths  in  which  they  go.     On 
the  mountain  or  the  deep,  they  feel  a  transient  emo 
tion  of  sublimity ;    and  this,  without  the  shadow  of 
sacrifice  or  self-denial,  is  their  religion ;    and  very 
exalted  do  they  seem  to  themselves  over  those  who, 
with  a  vulgar  sense  of  duty,  labor  on  in  the  dusty 
paths  on  the  plain.     In  matters  of  benevolence,  they 
are  ready  to  feel  for  that  elegant  and  interesting  dis 
tress  of  which  real  life  affords  so  little,  though  in 
works  of  fiction  it  so  much  abounds.     Since  there  is 
no  demand  in  the  market  of  life  for  such  humanity 
as  theirs,  they  take  it  out  in  feeling ;   not  discovering 
the  unsoundness  of  the  emotion,  because  it  is  never 
brought  to  the  test.     Meantime  they  go  on,  flourish 
ing  white  handkerchiefs,  and  shedding  sentimental 
tears,  which,  as  is  fully  evident  to  all  but  themselves, 
are  no  more  indications  of  tenderness  than  the  drops 
which  at  nightfall  steal  down  the  sides  of  the  shaded 
rock. 


MEN  OF  LETTERS  AND  SCIENCE,  ART.  I.  221 

The  influence  of  Rousseau  upon  literary  taste  and 
tendencies  has  been  exceedingly  great.  The  success 
with  which  he  passed,  coarse  and  selfish  as  he  was, 
for  a  man  of  deep  and  tender  feeling,  appears  to  have 
been  the  signal  for  a  procession  of  writers  to  with 
draw  the  public  attention  from  their  own  transgres 
sions,  by  crying  out  against  the  oppression  of  social 
laws,  and  lamenting  the  baseness  of  mankind.  We 
have  received  letters  from  inmates  of  our  penitentia 
ries,  in  which,  after  slightly  admitting  that  they  might 
have  been  imprudent,  they  spoke  with  indignation  of 
the  unequal  hardship  of  the  law,  and  the  cold  malig 
nity  of  all  other  men.  There  is  something  in  this 
tone  so  consoling,  and  even  elevating,  to  him  who 
employs  it,  that  we  are  not  to  wonder  at  the  taste 
spreading  into  literature,  —  a  republic  which,  like 
Texas,  owes  some  part  of  its  population  to  those 
who  have  no  reason  to  love  the  law.  Lord  Byron 
carried  on  this  masquerade  with  distinguished  suc 
cess,  sustaining  the  character  of  a  much  injured  man 
so  ably  as  almost  to  deceive  himself,  and  entirely  to 
bewilder  the  sentimental  portion  of  the  world.  Others, 
far  inferior  to  him,  have  also  enacted  the  part  of  a 
lion  of  the  day  by  means  of  this  drapery,  though  the 
points  of  the  inferior  animal  appeared  conspicuously 
through.  Under  convoy  of  male  and  female  scrib 
blers  of  novels,  we  see  murderers,  thieves,  and  ladies 
of  light  life  and  conversation,  present  themselves  with 
easy  confidence ;  assuring  us  that  it  is  not  they,  but 
human  laws  and  moral  sentiments,  which  are  an 
swerable  for  the  errors  of  their  lives,  —  if  errors  they 
be ;  maintaining  that  their  garments  are  more  beau- 

19* 


222  MEN  OF  LETTERS  AND  SCIENCE,  ART.  I. 

tiful  for  the  stains,  and  looking  on  the  virtuous  as 
vagrant  animals  do  on  those  in  the  pound,  with  pity 
approaching  to  disdain.  It  should  be  said,  however, 
that  Rousseau  was  a  better  man  than  his  followers : 
he  never  appears  to  have  found  himself  out :  but  in 
them  it  is  evidently  matter  of  shameless  calculation 
to  secure  gain  or  notoriety  by  defying  the  laws  of 
virtue ;  and  they  make  this  exhibition  of  themselves 
with  a  consciousness  of  exposure,  and  without  think 
ing  it  necessary  to  put  on  the  least  fig-leaf  of  self- 
delusion. 

It  is  true,  with  respect  both  to  Voltaire  and  Rous 
seau,  that  they  were  dyspeptics  ;  and  they  may  fairly 
claim  all  the  immunities  and  exemptions  which  dis 
eased  livers  entitle  them  to  demand.  But  if  this  plea 
be  generally  admitted,  like  that  of  insanity  in  the 
case  of  murder,  it  would  be  difficult  to  say  who  shall 
be  "  whipt  of  justice,"  or  how  it  would  be  possible  to 
enforce  a  sentence  of  condemnation  for  any  sin.  For 
we  apprehend,  that  there  are  few  of  our  readers  wrho 
have  not  said  with  a  sigh,  "  O  dura  messorum  ilia!  " 
or  who  can  think  of  those  birds  which  digest  nails 
and  broken  glass  with  unruffled  serenity,  without  feel 
ings  akin  to  admiration  and  despair.  No  doubt,  the 
martyrs  of  indigestion  suffer ;  and  their  irritability 
and  vengeance,  like  charity,  begin  at  home :  having 
their  origin  there,  they  go  forth  to  bless  mankind. 
How  far  it  is  possible  to  suppress  them,  to  what 
extent  they  are  excusable,  and  whether  they  shall 
be  set  down  among  vices  or  infirmities,  it  is  not  ours 
to  say ;  but,  if  morality  is  to  resolve  itself  into  a  form 
of  medical  jurisprudence,  and  no  man  can  be  cen- 


MEN  OF  LETTERS  AND  SCIENCE,  ART.  I.  223 

sured  till  the  doctor  has  felt  his  pulse  and  examined 
the  state  of  his  system,  others  as  well  as  literary  sin 
ners  should  have  the  benefit  of  it,  and  the  same  zeal 
which  is  now  manifested  to  do  away  with  capital 
punishment  should  extend  itself  to  all  penalties  of 
every  kind  and  degree. 

The  next  person  who  appears  in  the  Chancellor's 
gallery  was  distinguished,  if  any  thing  so  common 
can  be  regarded  as  a  distinction,  by  a  quarrel  with 
Rousseau.  There  may  be  a  doubt,  however,  whether 
that  could  be  called  a  quarrel  which  was  conducted 
by  one  party  without  the  least  assistance  from  the 
other.  A  quarrel  seldom  travels  far  upon  one  leg ; 
and  a  feud  with  one  so  easy  and  kind-hearted  as 
Hume  must  needs  have  proceeded  in  that  inconve 
nient  method,  if  it  went  on  at  all.  How  such  a 
quarrel  could  arise  appears  from  the  history  of  the 
persecution  suffered  in  Neufchatel  by  the  "  self-tortur 
ing  sophist,"  who  declared  that  a  quarry  of  stones 
was  thrown  into  his  house  at  night,  endangering  his 
life  and  filling  his  household  with  alarm ;  while  it 
was  stated  by  one  of  his  friends,  that  the  instrument 
of  this  revenge,  found  upon  the  floor  the  next  day, 
was  one  solitary  flint,  and  this  discovery  appears 
to  have  been  marked  by  the  singular,  though  not 
wholly  unaccountable,  circumstance  that  the  stone 
itself  was  larger  than  the  hole  in  the  glass  which  it 
came  through.  Hume  suffered  much  from  his  gener 
osity  to  this  "  interesting  solitary,"  as  he  was  called 
by  his  friends,  who  seem  to  have  urged  the  historian 
to  invite  him  to  England,  simply  in  order  to  keep 
him  out  of  France.  When  he  arrived,  Hume  found 


224  MEN  OF  LETTERS  AND  SCIENCE,  ART.  I. 

him  a  delightful  place  of  retreat,  and  also  procured 
him  a  pension.  But,  a  letter  having  been  written  by 
that  mischief-making  animal,  Horace  Walpole,  pur 
porting  to  be  addressed  by  Frederic  to  Rousseau, 
pressing  him  to  come  to  Berlin,  and  promising  every 
blessing  except  those  persecutions  in  which  he  so 
much  delighted,  the  sophist,  after  mature  delibera 
tion,  thought  proper  to  ascribe  this  trick  to  a  con 
spiracy  on  the  part  of  Hume,  and  resented  it  with 
the  utmost  fury,  even  going  so  far  as  to  throw  up  his 
pension,  —  an  act  of  resignation,  however,  which  he 
recalled  with  great  expedition. 

It  is  as  an  unbeliever  in  the  Christian  religion  that 
Hume  is  generally  remembered  by  those  who  hear 
his  name  ;  not  only  as  a  sceptic  himself,  but  as  the 
author  of  those  doubts  and  suggestions,  which,  re 
produced  in  various  forms,  still  operate  to  prevent 
Christianity  from  finding  admission  into  many  minds. 
But  the  truth  is,  that  religion,  wherever  it  is  found, 
has  generally  entered  by  the  avenues  of  the  heart ; 
and  a  man  of  easy  good-nature,  prosperous  in  his 
circumstances,  exempt  from  humiliating  and  sorrow 
ful  changes,  honored  by  the  great  and  esteemed  by 
all  around  him,  free  from  those  relations  and  respon 
sibilities  in  life  from  which  our  greatest  distresses 
as  well  as  blessings  come,  was  not  so  likely  as  others, 
of  different  constitution  and  differently  situated,  to 
feel  those  wants  of  the  soul  which  that  religion  is 
intended  to  supply.  Never  fiercely  assailed  by  temp 
tations,  he  was  not  compelled  to  resort  to  it  for 
strength  to  resist  them  ;  having  no  tendency  to  pas 
sion  or  revenge,  he  felt  no  need  of  its  restraining 


MEN  OF  LETTERS  AND  SCIENCE,  ART.  I.  225 

power ;  enjoying  every  moment  of  the  present  life 
as  he  did,  his  thoughts  were  seldom  carried  forward 
to  another  existence  ;  and,  as  men  seldom  resort  to 
it  till  they  feel  their  need  of  its  supports  and  consola 
tions,  it  is  easy  to  see  why  it  was  that  the  subject 
was  never  brought  home  to  his  heart. 

We  can  find  in  his  temperament,  then,  the  reason 
why  he  was  so  indifferent  to  Christianity,  and  so 
careless  whether  he  undermined  its  foundations  in 
men's  minds.  For  he  was  not  a  scoffer  ;  though 
there  was  an  occasional  tone  of  bitterness,  he  never 
descended  into  buffoonery  like  that  of  Voltaire ;  but 
he  evidently  did  not  feel  how  much  men  need  Chris 
tianity,  what  a  blessing  it  is,  and  what  a  disastrous 
change  the  loss  of  its  influence  would  be.  He  treats 
it  as  a  subject  of  metaphysical  discussion  merely; 
nor  could  he  understand  the  mighty  argument  for  its 
truth  which  is  found  in  its  universal  adaptation  to 
the  wants  and  sorrows  of  mankind.  His  doctrines 
are  thus  carried  out,  as  if  nothing  important  was 
involved,  and  as  if  it  was  simply  a  gratification  of 
curiosity  to  see  how  far  they  might  be  made  to  go. 
Having  shown  that  miracles  are  not  likely  to  take 
place,  and  that  the  error  or  falsehood  of  witnesses  is 
more  common  than  a  departure  from  the  usual  order 
of  things,  he  proceeds  to  infer  that  there  can  be  no 
such  thing  as  a  miracle  ;  which  amounts  to  the  asser 
tion,  that  there  is  no  such  thing  as  Divine  Providence, 
that  the  power  which  established  is  not  competent  to 
alter,  and,  in  fact,  excludes  the  Deity  from  all  direct 
concern  with  the  universe  which  he  has  made ;  — 
consequences  of  his  argument,  which,  of  themselves, 


226  MEN  OF  LETTERS  AND  SCIENCE,  ART.  I, 

would  be  enough  to  show  that  it  could  not  possibly 
be  true,  since  they  represent  the  creature  as  mightier 
than  its  Creator,  and  speak  of  a  God  whose  hands 
are  bound.  Lord  Brougham  remarks,  that,  had 
Hume  lived  to  see  the  late  discoveries  in  fossil  oste 
ology,  which  make  it  clear  that  there  was  at  some 
period  an  exertion  of  power  to  form  man  and  other 
animals  not  previously  existing,  he  must  either  have 
rejected  the  science,  which  would  be  absurd,  or  have 
admitted  the  interposition  of  creative  power.  But 
this  is  equally  true  of  the  whole  universe :  it  must 
either  be  self-existent,  or  the  time  must  have  been 
when  some  power  was  exerted  to  bring  it  into  being. 
Whoever,  therefore,  is  neither  atheist,  nor  pantheist, 
if  he  admits  that  the  usual  order  of  things  has  once 
been  suspended,  cannot  maintain  that  there  is  no 
power  to  depart  from  it  again. 

But,  without  entering  into  the  discussion  on  the 
subject  of  miracles,  which  has  already,  at  various 
times  and  in  divers  manners,  been  more  than  suffi 
ciently  extended,  —  considering  that  the  evidence  in 
their  favor  has  convinced  clear-headed  men  without 
number,  while  the  doubters  have  been  comparatively 
few,  —  we  would  simply  remark,  that  most  of  those 
who  take  the  sceptical  side  of  this  subject,  while 
they  think  that  they  get  rid  of  miracles,  leave  un 
touched  the  great  miracle  of  all ;  and  that  is,  Chris 
tianity  itself :  whence  did  it  come?  In  tracing  the 
history  of  other  opinions  and  reforms,  we  can  follow 
them  like  rivers  to  the  earthly  fountains  from  which 
they  spring ;  we  can  see  the  imperfect  attempts 
which  went  before  them,  the  influences  and  ten- 


MEN  OF  LETTERS  AND  SCIENCE,  ART.  I.  227 

dencies  which  led  to  them  ;  their  unformed  elements 
may  be  distinguished  long  before  their  living  action 
manifests  itself  to  the  world.  But  here  was  a  reli 
gion  suddenly  breaking  out  from  the  midst  of  dark 
ness,  breathing  peace  in  a  wild  and  martial  time, 
teaching  the  largest  charity  and  freedom  from  preju 
dice  among  a  most  narrow  and  bigoted  people, 
resisting  the  habits  of  thought  and  feeling  which  had 
always  prevailed,  and  itself  giving  the  first  impulse 
towards  that  improvement  in  which  it  would  lead  the 
nations  on  from  glory  to  glory.  It  is  idle  to  speak 
of  it  as  an  effort  of  genius  or  a  happy  discovery  ; 
for  these  are  results  of  efforts  and  progress  previously 
made,  and  no  such  elements  can  be  found  in  the 
ancient  world.  Now,  as  nothing  can  come  of  nothing, 
and  to  every  thing  must  be  assigned  a  cause  ade 
quate  to  produce  it,  we  do  not  know  where  to  look 
for  any  explanation  of  the  existence  of  this  religion 
but  that  which  regards  it  as  a  direct  gift  of  God. 
The  sceptic,  then,  if  he  discredits  the  miracles,  by 
showing  to  his  own  satisfaction  that  they  could  never 
have  been  wrought,  cannot  deny  that  Christianity 
exists  and  prevails,  and  thus  leaves  himself  em 
barrassed  with  a  difficulty  greater  than  that  which  he 
explains  away. 

The  character  of  Hume  has  often  been  impeached 
in  general  terms,  in  consequence  of  his  opinions ; 
Christians  having  always  taken  the  liberty,  in  defend 
ing  their  religion,  to  break  all  its  laws  of  love. 
Archbishop  Magee,  for  example,  speaks  of  his  wri 
tings  as  "  standing  memorials  of  a  heart  as  wicked, 
and  a  head  as  weak,  as  ever  pretended  to  the  char- 


228  MEN  OF  LETTERS  AND  SCIENCE,  ART.  I. 

acter  of  a  philosopher  and  moralist ;  "  —  a  remark 
which,  lacking  the  essential  grace  of  truth,  is  of  the 
number  of  those  which  bless  him  who  takes  consid 
erably  more  than  him  who  gives,  and  which  rather 
enlighten  us  as  to  the  good  sense  and  manners  of 
him  who  uses  them  than  of  those  to  whom  they  are 
applied.  But  Lord  Brougham  has  inserted  a  letter 
into  the  appendix  to  this  Life,  which  gives  a  more  un 
pleasant  impression  of  Hume  than  we  have  received 
from  any  other  quarter.  It  contains  the  expression 
of  a  wish,  that  some  clerical  friend  should  remain  in 
his  profession,  which  he  desired  to  abandon  ;  for, 
says  the  author  of  the  "  Inquiry  concerning  the  Prin 
ciples  of  Morals,"  — 

"  It  is  putting  too  great  respect  on  the  vulgar  and  on  their 
superstitions  to  pique  one's  self  on  sincerity  with  regard  to  them. 
Did  ever  one  make  it  a  point  of  honor  to  speak  truth  to  children 
or  madmen  ?  If  the  thing  were  worthy  being  treated  gravely,  I 
should  tell  him  that  the  Pythian  oracle,  with  the  approbation  of 
Xenophon,  advised  every  one  to  worship  the  gods  <  according  to 
the  law  of  the  city.'  I  wish  it  were  still  in  my  power  to  be  a  hypo 
crite  in  this  particular  ;  the  common  duties  of  society  usually 
require  it ;  and  the  ecclesiastical  profession  only  adds  a  little  more 
to  an  innocent  dissimulation,  or  rather  simulation,  without  which 
it  is  impossible  to  pass  through  the  world." 

Such  loose  talk  as  this,  the  recommendation  to  a 
friend  to  be  a  hypocrite,  the  wish  to  be  one  himself, 
and  the  suggestion  that  duty  may  sometimes  require 
it,  argues  an  extraordinary  indifference  on  these  sub 
jects,  which  are  commonly  regarded  as  important, 
whatever  may  be  men's  opinions  in  other  respects. 
Lord  Brougham  does  great  injustice  to  Paley  in 
connecting  his  doctrine  of  expediency  with  any  such 


MEN  OF  LETTERS  AND  SCIENCE,  ART.  I.  229 

application  of  it  as  this.  It  is  not  easy  to  conceive 
of  a  man  of  any  moral  principle  speaking  in  this 
manner  while  in  possession  of  his  reason ;  and  it  is 
not  doing  injustice  to  one  who  does,  to  regard  it  as 
a  sign  of  certain  deficiencies  of  moral  constitution, 
which  would  prevent  his  mind  from  apprehending 
the  worth  and  beauty  of  Christianity,  and,  to  the 
same  extent,  forbid  its  welcome  in  the  heart. 

There  is  another  respect  in  which  the  great  his 
torian  is  little  beholden  to  his  noble  biographer. 
The  impression  has  been,  that  Hume  wrote  with 
great  rapidity :  the  harmonious  and  beautiful  order 
of  his  narrative,  and  the  free  and  manly  grace  of 
expression,  indicate  that  it  came  from  his  pen  with  a 
swift  and  easy  flow.  This  circumstance  has  been 
regarded  as  an  explanation  of  many  of  his  errors ; 
for,  admirable  as  his  work  is,  and  delightful  to 
readers  as  it  will  ever  be,  it  is  wholly  discredited  as 
an  authority ;  no  one  places  the  least  reliance  upon 
it ;  we  resort  to  it  for  gratification,  while  we  go 
to  inferior  writers  to  know  the  truth.  But  Lord 
Brougham  gives  the  impression,  that  the  act  of  com 
position  to  Hume  was  laborious  and  painful ;  his 
manuscripts  still  in  existence  are  everywhere  scored, 
interlined,  and  altered :  indeed,  he  says  himself,  that 
he  was  slow,  and  not  easily  satisfied  with  what  he 
wrote ;  a  fact  which  deprives  him  of  the  apology, 
such  as  it  is,  which  the  extemporaneous  manner  of 
writing  ascribed  to  him  afforded  for  many  of  his 
errors.  The  Chancellor  also  declares,  that,  on  some 
occasions,  he  sacrificed  truth  to  effect,  introducing 
striking  circumstances  without  foundation,  and  alter- 

20 


230  MEN  OF  LETTERS  AND  SCIENCE,  ART.  I. 

ing  statements  from  what  he  knew  to  be  the  correct 
version  ;  and,  though  these  variations  from  the  truth 
of  history,  so  far  as  noticed,  are  not  of  any  great 
importance,  they  are  still  sufficient  to  show,  that  his 
conscience  was  not  strictly  delicate,  and  that,  accord 
ing  to  the  suggestion  made  to  his  clerical  friend,  he 
considered  readers  of  history  as  among  those  incon 
siderable  persons  to  whom  the  truth  needs  not  be 
told  ;  either  because  he  thought  the  article  too  rare 
and  precious  to  be  wasted,  or  that  the  invention  of 
historical  facts  seemed  a  nobler  and  more  inviting 
office  than  simply  to  record  them. 

This  distinguished  man  is  generally  spoken  of  as 
a  sceptic ;  but  Lord  Brougham  shows  that  his  views 
come  as  near  to  atheism  as  it  is  possible  for  a  man 
not  of  unholy  life  to  go.  Hume  contends,  not  that 
there  are  doubts  on  the  subject  of  God's  existence 
and  the  immortality  of  the  soul,  but  that  we  have  no 
evidence  of  either,  and  therefore  no  ground  for  be 
lieving  in  God  and  immortality.  And  thus,  with 
respect  to  miracles,  his  argument  maintains  that  they 
cannot  be  proved  ;  that  a  divine  interposition  is  a 
thing  impossible ;  and  of  this  there  is  a  certainty 
which  no  amount  of  testimony  can  outweigh.  It 
therefore  leads,  not  to  doubt,  but  to  a  conviction  of 
the  falsehood  of  the  religion  which  professes  to  come 
from  on  high.  Perhaps  the  reason  why  he  has  thus 
been  regarded,  as  one  whose  mind  was  balanced 
between  the  two  opinions,  is,  that  he  never,  like 
Voltaire,  entered  into  a  blind  and  furious  wrarfare 
against  Christianity.  His  reasonings  against  it  are 
grave  and  decent,  seldom  defiled  by  unworthy  Ian- 


MEN  OF  LETTERS  AND  SCIENCE,  ART.  I.  231 

guage  or  feeling.  So  unlike  is  this  to  the  bearing  of 
most  other  infidels,  that  it  gives  the  impression  of  un- 
decidedness  and  neutrality ;  when,  perhaps,  there 
never  was  any  one  to  whom  the  religion  could  have 
been  presented  with  so  little  hope  of  success ;  since 
his  regular  life,  his  steady  temper,  and  prosperous 
circumstances,  had  prevented  his  feeling  the  need  of 
it  as  most  men  do ;  and,  when  the  intellect,  which 
in  him  was  infinitely  stronger  than  the  affections, 
reported  against  it,  no  voice  in  its  favor  was  lifted 
up  by  his  heart.  Even  if  his  views  on  the  subject  of 
our  faith  had  been  at  first  mere  speculations,  as  soon 
as  he  published  his  arguments  against  it,  he  came 
into  sympathy  with  its  opposers.  Indifference  was 
no  longer  possible ;  and  it  was  as  an  antagonist  of 
Christianity,  if  not  of  all  religion,  that  he  lived  and 
died. 

A  statement  was  thrown  out  in  the  "  Quarterly 
Review  "  many  years  ago,  and  we  well  remember 
the  sensation  it  created,  which  represented  the  papers 
left  by  Hume  as  containing  evidence  that  distin 
guished  ministers  of  the  gospel  in  Edinburgh  were 
in  full  sympathy  with  him ;  practising  on  his  sug 
gestion  with  respect  to  deceiving  the  public,  and 
having  no  more  real  faith  than  he  had  in  the  religion 
which  they  professed  to  preach.  This  incredible 
assertion,  which  doubtless  proceeded  from  some 
narrow-minded  bigot,  who  regarded  false  witness 
against  another  sect  as  a  virtue,  and  charity  as  a 
mortal  sin,  was  not  corrected  at  the  time ;  but  Lord 
Brougham  informs  us,  that  he  has  caused  the  most 
exact  search  to  be  made,  and,  finding  no  confirma- 


232  MEN  OF  LETTERS  AND  SCIENCE,  ART.  I. 

tion  of  the  story,  he  gives  it  an  unqualified  contra 
diction. % 

One  of  the  clergymen  alluded  to  was  Dr.  Robert 
son,  who  comes  next  in  succession  in  this  biography, 
and  whose  life  is  written  with  a  satisfaction  increased, 
doubtless,  by  the  circumstance  that  he  was  connected 
with  the  noble  lord,  whose  grandmother  was  a  sister 
of  the  historian ;  not  that  more  than  justice  is  done 
to  his  moral  character,  but  his  talents  and  literary 
standing  are  rated  somewhat  too  high.  Dr.  Robert 
son  was  a  Christian  in  character,  and  therefore  a 
gentleman  in  his  manners ;  he  did  not  think  himself 
bound  to  treat  an  unbeliever,  who  never  insulted  his 
faith,  as  a  profane  and  graceless  enemy  of  man. 
Though  he  was  firm,  or  perhaps  we  should  say 
because  he  was  firm,  in  his  own  conviction,  he  could 
look  upon  one  whose  opinions  were  different,  without 
the  least  feeling  of  hatred  and  revenge  ;  in  which 
respect  he  had  the  advantage  of  some  over-zealous 
Christians,  both  in  the  peace  and  happiness  of  his 


*  Notwithstanding  this  denial,  and  in  full  view  of  the  evidence  on  which  it 
is  made,  the  charge  is  repeated  in  the  last  number  of  the  "  Quarterly  Review," 
apparently  by  the  same  writer  who  first  brought  it  forward.  He  says,  Lord 
Brougham  "  produces  no  evidence,  except  as  to  the  actual  contents  of  the  Hume 
papers.  They  came  but  lately  into  the  hands  of  their  present  possessors ;  and 
we  think  it  might  have  occurred  to  Lord  Brougham  as  not  altogether  impossible 
(considering  the  late  Mr.  Baron  Hume's  refusal  to  let  any  use  be  made  of  them 
during  his  own  lifetime),  that  the  learned  judge  purified  the  collection  before  he 
bequeathed  it  to  the  Royal  Society  of  Edinburgh."  The  reviewer  also  cites  the 
passage,  which  we  have  already  quoted,  from  Hume's  letter  to  Col.  Edmon- 
stone,  advising  a  clerical  friend  not  to  abandon  his  profession  because  he  had 
become  a  sceptic,  as  affording  "  an  inference  in  tolerable  harmony  with  the 
rumor  so  magisterially  dismissed."  Our  readers  will  observe,  however,  that 
this  grave  charge,  first  made  upon  the  authority  of  mere  rumor,  is  here  repeated 
as  a  matter  of  inference  only  ;  and  though  the  reviewer,  it  appears,  has  "  had 
access  to  some  of  Hume's  unpublished  letters,"  it  does  not  appear  that  he  found 
in  them  any  direct  evidence  of  the  truth  of  the  accusation. 


MEN  OF  LETTERS  AND  SCIENCE,  ART.  I.  233 

own  temper,  and  in  the  influence  he  exerted  to  bring 
unbelieving  wanderers  home.  The  calumny  here 
alluded  to  was  doubtless  owing  to  this  liberality  on 
his  part,  misinterpreted  by  those  who  consider  no 
one  who  is  not  ready  to  put  an  infidel  to  death  as 
entitled  to  the  name  of  Christian. 

Lord  Brougham,  having  a  nearer  interest  in  the 
subject  of  this  biography  than  in  most  others,  is 
naturally  disposed  to  give  him  all  his  due.  There 
is  such  an  evenness  of  merit,  such  a  graceful  and 
sustained  propriety,  and  so  much  freedom  from  strik 
ing  faults,  in  Robertson's  historical  writings,  that  his 
works,  which  travelled  up  at  once  to  the  highest 
popularity,  have  ever  since  kept  their  place  in  the 
general  esteem.  It  is  curious  to  contrast  his  enthu 
siastic  reception  with  the  cold  reception  given  at  first 
to  the  great  work  of  Hume.  Of  the  first  volume  of 
the  "  History  of  England,"  containing  the  reigns 
of  James  the  First  and  Charles  the  First,  only  five 
and  forty  copies  were  sold  in  London  the  year 
after  it  came  from  the  press,  though  it  treated  of  a 
period  of  history  most  exciting  in  its  interest,  and, 
the  writer's  careless  inquiry  into  facts  not  having 
then  been  discovered,  was  fitted,  one  would  suppose, 
by  its  animated  grace  of  manner  and  living  charm 
of  language,  to  eclipse  all  other  writings  of  the  kind 
in  the  public  eye.  It  gives  a  pleasing  impression  of 
Hume's  disposition,  that,  conscious  as  he  must  have 
been  of  his  own  superiority,  he  could  bear  thus  to  be 
cast  into  the  shade.  He  wrote  a  letter  of  humorous 
reproach  to  Robertson,  complaining,  that,  when  he 
was  sitting  in  glory  at  the  feet  of  Smollett  (of  whose 

20* 


234  MEN  OF  LETTERS  AND  SCIENCE,  ART.  I. 

history  he  had  the  meanest  opinion),  the  author  of 
the  "  History  of  Scotland "  should  have  pressed 
himself  above  him,  and  come  nearer  to  their  great 
master  than  he.  But  Robertson,  if  inferior  to  his 
friend  in  sagacity  and  comprehension,  was  entitled 
to  success  by  his  laborious  accuracy.  So  far  as  his 
means  of  information  went,  he  was  conscientiously 
faithful.  He  was  employed  at  least  six  years  in  his 
first  work,  while  Hume  despatched  his  history  of  the 
Stuarts  in  less  than  three  ;  though  the  amount  of 
materials  to  be  consulted,  the  conflict  of  authorities, 
and  the  obstacles  in  the  way  of  accuracy,  were,  in 
this  latter  case,  a  thousand  to  one,  compared  with 
the  other. 

While  Lord  Brougham  somewhat  overestimates 
the  excellence  of  Robertson's  writings,  he  is  not  blind 
to  his  defects.  It  is  refreshing  to  learn  that  he  finds 
fault  with  him  in  one  respect ;  and  that  is,  for  the 
deference  which  he  pays  to  what  the  world,  much  to 
its  own  loss  and  injury,  is  pleased  to  call  greatness, 
and  the  indemnity  which  he  is  willing  to  concede  to 
heroes,  tyrants,  and  similar  nuisances  of  mankind. 
Historians  appear,  by  common  consent,  to  have  taken 
might  for  right ;  and  courage,  frankness,  wisdom,  or 
decision  of  character,  has  been  sufficient,  at  their  tri 
bunal,  to  save  the  offender  from  the  condemnation  of 
every  sin.  It  is  disgusting  in  the  extreme  to  hear  the 
butcher  of  his  wives,  the  most  brutal  of  sovereigns, 
treated  with  hearty  and  sympathizing  regard,  as  jolly 
old  King  Harry  ;  and  when  the  Chancellor  comes  on 
Robertson  and  Hume  with  his  long  and  sweeping 
scourge,  for  their  courtier-like  homage  to  the  mem- 


MEN  OF  LETTERS  AND  SCIENCE,  ART.  I.  235 

ory  of  Elizabeth,  we  feel  that  the  infliction  is  richly 
deserved.  Not  that  we  consider  him  particularly  dis 
criminating  on  these  occasions.  He  seems  to  take  it 
for  granted  with  respect  to  Mary  Stuart,  that  her  mar 
riage  with  Bothwell  was  sufficient  proof  of  all  that 
was  alleged  against  her ;  when  those  who  examine 
the  subject  will  see,  as  we  have  set  forth  in  a  for 
mer  number,*  that  she  could  not  possibly  have  been 
accessory  to  the  murder  of  her  husband  ;  in  a  word, 
that  she  was  never  stained  with  blood,  whatever  her 
subsequent  weakness  may  have  been.  Not  so  with 
Elizabeth :  it  is  beyond  question,  that,  thinking  the 
slow  poison  of  imprisonment  was  not  enough,  she 
attempted  to  prevail  on  Drury  and  Paulet  to  murder 
the  unhappy  queen ;  and,  not  succeeding  in  this,  she 
resorted  to  the  meanest,  falsehood  and  imposture  to 
accomplish  that  infernal  deed.  Well  says  the  Chan 
cellor,  "  History,  fertile  in  royal  crimes,  offers  to  our 
execration  few  such  characters  as  this  great,  success 
ful,  and  popular  princess.  An  assassin  in  her  heart, 
nay,  in  her  counsels  and  orders  ;  an  oppressor  of  the 
most  unrelenting  cruelty  in  her  whole  conduct ;  a 
hypocritical  dissembler,  to  whom  falsehood  was  hab 
itual,  honest  frankness  strange,  —  such  is  the  light  in 
which  she  ought  ever  to  be  held  up,  as  long  as  truth 
and  humanity  shall  bear  any  value  in  the  eyes  of 
men."  If  there  were  any  substance  to  the  fiction, 
that  the  Chancellor  has  the  conscience  of  the  sove 
reign  in  his  keeping,  and  if  a  human  being  in  office 
could  feel  as  he  does  when  out  of  it,  we  could  wish 
that  his  lordship  was  still  presiding  in  the  Court  of 

*  North  American  Review,  vol.  xxxiv.  p.  144. 


236 


MEN  OF  LETTERS  AND  SCIENCE,  ART.  I. 


Chancery,  not  of  England  only,  but  of  the  literary 
world. 

In  speaking  of  the  "  History  of  America,"  which 
followed  that  of  Scotland,  Lord  Brougham  sails 
away  in  a  flight  of  enthusiasm  which  was  hardly  to 
be  expected  from  such  a  veteran  ;  not  that  he  prefers 
it  as  a  whole  to  the  other  histories  ;  but  he  thinks  that 
there  are  passages  and  descriptions  in  it  which  neither 
its  author  nor  any  other  historian  ever  exceeded  ;  and 
he  evidently  has  no  kind  feeling  towards  Irving  for 
attempting  the  portrait  of  Columbus,  which  Robert 
son  had  drawn  before  him.  The  Chancellor  makes 
a  contrast  between  the  passages  in  which  the  two 
writers  describe  the  first  discovery  of  land  by  the 
great  navigator,  greatly  to  the  disparagement  of 
the  American,  whose  account  he  considers  ambitious 
and  straining  after  effect,  and  therefore  far  less 
impressive  than  the  noble  simplicity  of  the  other. 
Robertson's  description  of  that  memorable  scene  is 
certainly  good,  —  better  even  than  Southey's  slight 
attempt  in  "  Madoc"  to  bring  before  the  reader  that 
moment  which  opened  a  new  history  to  the  world. 
But  Lord  Brougham,  whose  temperament  does  not 
always  incline  to  laudation,  has  gone  somewhat 
beyond  himself  in  this  eulogy,  treating  the  absence  of 
faults  as  a  striking  beauty,  and  imagining  graces  more 
than  are  really  there.  He  says  that  he  once  called 
the  attention  of  Lord  Wellesley  to  this  passage  ;  and 
that  nobleman  afterwards  assured  him,  that  he  shed 
tears  while  he  read  it,  and  it  had  broken  his  rest  at 
night.  Perhaps  it  may  be  the  hardness  brought  over 
our  hearts  by  the  constant  practice  of  reviewing,  but 


MEN  OF  LETTERS  AND  SCIENCE,  ART.  I.  237 

we  must  plead  guilty  to  reading  it  with  dry  eyes ; 
nor  are  we  often  moved  to  tears  by  simple  and  judi 
cious  writing;  while,  on  the  contrary,  we  almost 
weep  aloud  over  the  vicious  affectation  and  vulgar 
elegance  which  Bulwer  and  his  company  have  im 
posed  upon  the  world  as  refined  and  intellectual  writ 
ing.  We  enjoy  a  compensation  for  this  obtuseness, 
however,  in  the  fact,  that  we  are  not  kept  awake  by 
the  better  parts  of  the  books  which  our  public  capa 
city  requires  us  to  read ;  and  when  we  sit  down  to 
the  greater  proportion  of  them,  particularly  the  pop 
ular  novels  of  the  day,  it  brings  over  us  a  spirit  of 
repose,  a  dreamless  and  heavy  slumber,  in  which  we 
forget  the  toil  and  warfare  of  our  vocation,  and  sub 
side  into  peace  and  charity  with  all  mankind. 

While  we  are  not  much  inclined  to  disagree  with 
Lord  Brougham  in  his  critical  decisions,  we  greatly 
honor  the  spirit  in  which  he  speaks  of  the  manner  in 
which  all  history  has  been  written.  Historians  who 
know  better,  and  who  ought  to  guide  the  moral  sen 
timents  of  their  readers,  have  fallen  into  the  common 
train  of  feeling,  regarding  all  peaceful  scenes  and 
virtues  with  comparative  indifference,  and  exalting 
ability  and  guilt  into  most  unmerited  glory.  He 
sharply  censures,  too,  as  well  he  may,  the  irregular 
and  inconsistent  manner  in  which  they  dispense  their 
condemnation  and  applause  ;  exalting  to  the  skies 
the  bloody  ambition  of  the  Plantagenets  and  the 
crooked  policy  of  the  Tudors,  while  Richard  the 
Third,  a  man  of  greater  courage  and  capacity,  and 
about  as  amiable,  is  the  target  for  every  broadside  of 
indignation,  which,  for  the  sake  of  appearances,  they 


233  MEN  OF  LETTERS  AND  SCIENCE,  ART.  I. 

think  it  necessary  sometimes  to  throw  in.  There  is, 
however,  one  objection  to  severe  moral  judgment, 
which  did  not  occur  to  the  Chancellor's  legal  mind. 
When  an  English  admiral  once  remonstrated  with 
the  Dey  of  Algiers  respecting  the  lawless  conduct  of 
his  soldiers,  that  sovereign  admitted  that  the  com 
plaint  was  well  founded,  and  said  that  he  had  ear 
nestly  endeavored  to  make  a  reform,  having,  with 
that  view,  hanged  as  many  as  fifty  in  a  day ;  but  he 
had  found,  though  he  evidently  saw  no  other  objec 
tion  to  the  process,  that  he  could  not  very  well  spare 
the  men.  Similar  considerations  may  have  induced 
historians  to  be  merciful  to  the  wholesale  robbers  and 
murderers  of  the  human  race ;  for  so  general  has 
been  the  tendency  to  such  practices,  and  so  few  are 
there  among  those  distinguished  in  history  who  have 
not  something  of  the  kind  to  answer  for,  that  strict 
ness  to  mark  and  censure  such  iniquity  would  turn 
history  into  a  sort  of  Old  Bailey  chronicle  ;  writers 
who  now  exult  in  their  pride  of  place  would  become 
literary  hangmen  under  the  moral  law  ;  and  the  men 
usually  most  admired  and  honored  in  the  annals  of 
their  country  must  necessarily  be  their  victims.  He 
says,  that  he  himself  once  undertook  the  reigns  of 
Alfred,  Henry  the  Fifth,  and  Elizabeth,  with  a  view 
to  the  right  application  of  moral  principles  to  history, 
and  was  prevented  from  completing  the  task  only 
by  his  growing  public  and  professional  labors.  We 
regret  that  he  did  not  persevere  :  in  his  hands,  Alfred 
would  have  been  duly  honored  for  his  intellectual 
energy  and  civil  wisdom  ;  France  would  have  found 
a  late  atonement  for  her  wrongs  in  the  chastisement 


MEN  OF  LETTERS  AND  SCIENCE,  ART.  I.  239 

inflicted  on  the  martial  shade  of  Henry ;  while  dire 
and  unchivalrous  would  have  been  his  lashes  on  the 
shoulders  of  Queen  Bess,  "  a  model  of  falsehood 
in  all  its  more  hateful  and  despicable  forms,  who  had 
all  the  guilt  of  murder  on  her  head,  and  was  only 
only  saved  from  its  actual  perpetration  by  having  a 
Paulet  for  her  agent  instead  of  a  Tyrrel."  It  is  much 
to  be  desired  that  some  arm  of  power  would  bring 
about  this  revolution,  vast  and  sweeping  though  it 
would  be  ;  dashing  down  the  statues  which  now  sit 
on  thrones  in  human  estimation  and  public  annals ; 
and  calling  from  weakness  into  power,  and  from  dis 
honor  into  glory,  many  who,  in  their  own  and  suc 
ceeding  times,  have  seldom  been  honored  with  the 
applause  which  they  well  deserve. 

Dr.  Robertson's  life  was  marked  in  every  part  by 
a  dignified  moderation,  which  does  not  give  a  very 
animated  interest  to  his  biography,  but  implies  more 
character,  and  requires  more  energy  to  sustain,  than 
is  generally  supposed.  It  is  easy  to  give  way  to 
feeling,  to  let  the  passions  loose,  and  to  throw  one's 
self  headlong  into  the  rushing  tide  of  party.  And 
this  is  what  passes  for  force  of  character  with  man 
kind,  who  are  apt  to  mistake  the  noise  and  smoke  of 
the  engines  for  the  great  moving  power.  But,  while 
sudden  effects  and  transient  impressions  are  pro 
duced  by  men  of  impulse,  who  spend  their  strength 
in  irregular  and  violent  exertions,  the  best  services  in 
the  cause  of  humanity,  and  by  far  the  most  enduring 
results,  may  be  traced  in  the  world's  history  to  men 
of  moderation,  of  whom  Washington  was  an  exam 
ple.  They  are  not  rightly  estimated  by  those  about 


240  MEN  OF  LETTERS  AND  SCIENCE,  ART.  I. 

them,  and  succeeding  times  are  slow  to  acknowledge 
them  as  great.  Flaring  candles  on  the  earth  out 
shine  the  brightest  stars  in  heaven  for  a  season ;  but 
the  former  are  soon  burnt  out,  while  the  planets  are 
shining  on  for  ever.  We  should  not  assign  Dr. 
Robertson  a  place  among  the  highest  of  this  class, 
by  any  means :  but  he,  like  the  rest,  has  been  under 
estimated  by  those  who  confound  moderation  with 
mediocrity ;  who  believe,  that,  in  the  warfare  of  life, 
all  depends,  not  on  strength,  but  shouting  ;  and  ex 
pect  to  overthrow  the  strongholds  of  vice  and  oppres 
sion  like  Jericho,  not  by  siege  and  battery,  but  by 
sounding  their  ram's  horns  under  the  walls. 

The  next  portrait  in  the  Chancellor's  gallery  brings 
us  out  of  the  region  of  historians  into  that  of  philo 
sophers.  The  first  presented  is  Black,  the  great 
chemical  discoverer,  whose  name  has  been  sur 
rounded  with  a  sort  of  obscurity  much  in  contrast 
with  his  distinguished  claims,  and  rather  strange, 
considering  how  deeply  science  is  indebted  to  him 
for  some  of  its  greatest  advances.  It  is  explained 
by  the  fact,  that  he  was  modest  and  unpretending, 
content  to  be  great,  and  not  solicitous  that  men 
should  acknowledge  his  worth  ;  manifesting  thereby 
that  confidence  which  is  so  much  more  common  in 
scientific  than  in  literary  men,  that  the  world  would 
do  him  justice  at  last,  however  his  merits  might  for 
a  time  be  misunderstood.  When  he  was  young,  he 
printed  a  Latin  thesis,  containing  the  intimation  of 
some  of  his  discoveries.  One  of  the  copies  was  pre 
sented  by  his  father,  then  in  Bordeaux,  to  Montes 
quieu,  who  said  to  him,  "  I  rejoice  with  you,  my 


MEN  OF  LETTERS  AND  SCIENCE,  ART.  I.  241 

good  friend :  your  son  will  be  the  honor  of  your 
name  and  family ;  "  —  a  prediction  which,  whether 
inspired  by  French  politeness  or  a  true  discernment, 
was  afterwards  well  fulfilled.  There  is  something 
very  interesting  in  Lord  Brougham's  description  of 
the  man,  of  his  graceful  manner  in  lecturing,  the 
easy  confidence  with  which  he  made  his  experiments, 
the  unlabored  elegance  of  his  extemporaneous  speak 
ing,  and  the  philosophical  views  and  suggestions 
with  which  he  chained  the  attention  of  his  hearers. 
His  lordship  says,  that  "  the  commanding  periods 
of  Pitt's  majestic  oratory,"  "  the  vehemence  of  Fox's 
burning  declamation,"  "  the  close  compacted  chain 
of  Grant's  pure  reasoning,"  "  the  mingled  fancy, 
epigram,  and  argumentation  of  Plunket,"  have  given 
him  less  delight  than  he  felt  in  attending  those  lec 
tures,  when  "the  first  philosopher  of  the  age"  was 
giving  forth  his  own  discoveries,  recounting  the 
successive  steps  by  which  he  had  reached  them, 
and  pointing  out  the  difficulties  triumphantly  over 
come. 

There  are  generally  many  who  are  walking  to 
gether  in  the  paths  of  science,  nearly  abreast  of  each 
other  ;  and,  as  they  have  each  mastered  the  succes 
sive  steps  which  lead  up  to  a  great  discovery,  it  is 
not  easy  always  to  say  to  whom  the  honor  of  making 
it  rightfully  belongs.  There  are  also  individuals  who 
are  fully  capable  of  estimating  what  others  have 
done,  and  not  too  scrupulously  self-denying  to  ap 
propriate  to  themselves  a  share  of  it.  Nations,  too, 
appear  to  consider  claims  of  this  kind  to  be  main 
tained  like  points  of  public  honor,  with  as  little 

21 


242  MEN  OF  LETTERS  AND  SCIENCE,  ART.  I. 

regard  as  may  be  to  honesty  and  truth.  Lord 
Brougham  belabors  the  memory  of  Lavoisier,  as  one 
of  those  kind-hearted  people,  who,  when  he  found 
that  the  parent  of  a  discovery  seemed  to  care  but 
little  for  his  offspring,  had  too  tender  a  heart  to  see 
it  wander  as  an  orphan,  and,  as  a  duty  of  humanity, 
adopted  it  as  his  own.  Happily,  Dr.  Black  was  not 
defrauded  in  this  way  as  much  as  many  others  have 
been ;  the  great  French  chemist  being  a  schoolboy 
when  he  made  his  discovery  of  fixed  air,  to  which 
the  science  owes  its  great  subsequent  progress.  He 
was  not  sensitive  on  the  subject  of  fame.  He  found 
his  enjoyment  in  the  literary  society  of  Edinburgh, 
which  was  then  of  a  high  order ;  and,  though  his 
readiness  to  communicate  his  speculations  to  others, 
and  his  indifference  to  his  own  renown,  exposed 
him  to  this  kind  of  plunder,  the  traits  of  character 
which  such  conduct  implies  belong  to  those  virtues 
which  bring  with  them  a  satisfaction  that  more  than 
compensates  any  loss  or  sacrifice  which  they  re 
quire. 

Another  great  name  in  this  department  of  science 
is  that  of  Cavendish,  who,  though  connected  with  the 
Duke  of  Devonshire,  and  enjoying  a  splendid  estate, 
had  an  intellectual  taste  and  energy  which  carried 
him  above  the  temptations  incident  to  birth  and  for 
tune,  into  that  high  sphere  where  only  the  truly  noble 
are  found.  Perfectly  indifferent  to  luxuries  and 
common  gratifications,  and  living  in  the  society  of 
his  books  and  philosophical  apparatus,  he  appeared, 
like  Black,  so  much  more  desirous  to  be  than  to 
seem  a  benefactor  to  science,  that  he  cared  but  little 


MEN  OF  LETTERS  AND  SCIENCE,  ART.  I.  243 

for  his  discoveries  when  they  were  once  made,  and 
had  no  ambition  to  publish  his  triumphs  to  the  world. 
He  was  obliged  to  make  even  greater  efforts  to  keep 
himself  in  private  life  than  others  to  push  themselves 
before  the  public  eye.  His  family,  aware  of  his 
talents,  were  anxious  that,  as  the  grandson  of  a 
duke,  he  should  make  himself  distinguished  in  public 
affairs.  Their  displeasure  had  no  effect  to  change 
his  purpose  ;  and  an  uncle,  disapproving  the  course 
which  they  pursued  towards  him,  and  respecting  his 
moral  steadiness,  left  him  heir  to  his  own  property, 
amounting  to  a  million  and  a  half  sterling.  Very 
few  are  the  heads  which  would  not  have  been 
turned  by  such  a  Avindfall :  he  was,  like  ^Esop's  trav 
eller,  tried  by  the  storm  and  sunshine,  save  that  the 
sunbeams  of  prosperity  could  not  induce  him  to 
throw  off  the  garment  which  the  tempest  of  persecu 
tion  had  shown  itself  unable  to  tear  away.  This 
clear  discernment  of  his  own  gifts  and  powers,  this 
determination  to  follow  out  his  vocation,  and  this  su 
periority  to  common  enjoyments  and  honors,  would 
be  enough  to  stamp  him  with  the  seal  of  eminence, 
even  if  he  had  never  succeeded  in  unfolding  some 
of  the  deep  mysteries  of  nature,  and  thus  in  com 
manding  the  respect  and  gratitude  of  men. 

The  name  of  Priestley,  which  follows,  is  great  in 
the  annals  of  science,  but  is  better  known  to  the 
world  by  his  theological  opinions;  and,  though  un 
blessed  by  many,  and  defended  by  comparatively 
few,  it  has  fought  its  way  to  the  universal  acknow 
ledgment,  that  he  was  a  man  of  blameless  life,  of 
generous  affections;  and  that,  whatever  may  have 


244  MEN  OF  LETTERS  AND  SCIENCE,  ART.  I. 

been  his  success  in  finding  the  truth,  he  at  least  pur 
sued  it  in  singleness  of  heart.  He  was  detested  as  a 
politician  by  the  conservatives  of  his  day,  who  saw 
in  the  French  Revolution,  which  gave  him  so  much 
joy,  nothing  but  a  curse  to  the  world.  He  was 
suspected  and  feared  by  theologians,  as  one  who 
wras  desirous  to  ruin  the  souls  of  others,  having 
already  done  that  service  for  his  own ;  and  the  ut 
most  reach  of  their  charity  could  extend  only  to  the 
wish,  that  he  would  confine  himself  to  his  laboratory, 
instead  of  turning  the  world  upside  down  by  his 
speculations.  They  could  not  see,  what  is  now  so 
clear,  that  "  we  have  no  right  to  doubt  his  conscien 
tious  motives ;  the  more  especially  as  his  heterodox 
dogmas,  always  manfully  avowed,  never  brought 
him  any  thing  but  vexation  and  injury  in  his  tem 
poral  concerns."  But  the  general  feeling  is  now 
softened  throughout  the  Christian  world.  It  may 
be  doubted  whether  Priestley  would  at  this  day  be 
rejected  by  any  church,  and  thrown  into  deep  dis 
tress,  as  he  was  in  his  youth,  by  reason  of  his  in 
ability  to  feel  contrition  for  Adam's  sin.  All  now 
required  would  be  penitence  for  his  personal  of 
fences,  leaving  Adam,  like  other  people,  to  answer 
for  his  own. 

There  never  was  a  man  of  disposition  more  cheer 
ful,  social,  and  undaunted ;  and  endless  as  his  con 
troversies  were,  —  having,  like  other  controversies, 
very  little  of  the  beauty  of  holiness  about  them,  — he 
might  congratulate  himself,  like  Hume,  that  "  he  had 
no  enemy,  except  perhaps  the  Whigs  and  the  Tories, 
and  all  the  Christian  world."  His  amiable  manners 


MEN  OF  LETTERS  AND  SCIENCE,  ART.  I.  245 

disarmed  the  hostility  of  all  who  came  near  him ; 
and,  when  he  was  fiercely  contesting  the  eternity  of 
future  torments,  his  adversaries  almost  wished,  for 
his  sake,  that  the  doctrine  might  not  be  true.  Of 
his  publications,  which  amounted  to  one  hundred 
and  forty-one  in  number,  only  seventeen  are  on 
scientific  matters.  Many  relate  to  general  subjects; 
for  such  was  his  activity  of  mind,  that  he  took  a 
quick  and  deep  interest  in  every  thing  which  came 
before  him.  By  far  the  greater  part  are  theological, 
which  accounts,  as  Lord  Brougham  says,  for  his 
now  having  few  readers ;  not  many  holding  all  his 
^peculiar  tenets,  while,  as  to  some  doctrines,  he  him 
self  composed  the  whole  rank  and  file  of  his  party. 

The  most  brilliant  and  familiar  name  in  the  history 
of  chemistry  is  that  of  Sir  Humphrey  Davy,  whose 
life  was  as  prosperous  as  that  of  Priestley  was 
troubled ;  though  it  may  be  doubted  whether  the 
circumstances  of  wealth,  quiet,  and  popular  admira 
tion,  which  he  enjoyed,  were  really  beneficial  either 
to  his  happiness  or  his  fame.  Lord  Brougham, 
though  rather  reserved  in  drawing  his  private  char 
acter,  intimates  that  he  was  not  pleased  to  be  re 
minded  of  the  obscurity  from  which  he  sprang.  A 
vain-glorious  boast  of  one's  self-elevation  is  offensive ; 
but,  if  a  great  man  is  really  ashamed  of  his  humble 
beginnings,  the  feeling  must  arise  from  a  peculiar 
kind  of  vanity,  implying  something  unsound  in  his 
heart.  When  he  first  came  to  London,  he  was  un 
couth  and  ungraceful  in  his  bearing;  but  he  soon 
acquired  sufficient  courtly  self-possession  to  com 
mand  the  applause  of  his  audiences.  For  a  time, 

21* 


2-16  MEN  OF  LETTERS  AND  SCIENCE,  ART.   I. 

he  seemed  intoxicated  with  this  success,  as  it  was 
unfitly  called ;  but  it  is  not  the  breath  of  ladies'  fans 
that  can  fill  one's  sails  for  immortality ;  and,  though 
Davy  afterwards  lived  much  in  society,  he  devoted 
himself  to  that  earnest  pursuit  of  science  which  alone 
could  sustain  his  reputation,  and  which  led  to  those 
discoveries  that  are  now  the  glory  of  his  name.  It 
is  on  these  discoveries  alone  that  Davy's  great  repu 
tation  must  ultimately  depend  ;  for  his  published 
works  on  scientific  subjects,  though,  proceeding  from 
such  a  source,  they  could  not  be  without  value,  are 
not  by  any  means  equal  to  his  fame.  His  later 
writings,  "  Salmonia "  and  "  The  Last  Days  of  a 
Philosopher,"  came  from  his  pen  after  he  had  suf 
fered  from  an  apoplectic  seizure,  which,  however 
slight,  is  generally  felt  as  the  touch  of  death.  He 
submitted  to  great  labor,  not  to  speak  of  serious 
dangers,  in  making  his  experiments ;  but  the  labor 
of  writing  is  of  a  different  kind,  much  less  exciting, 
and  requiring  not  impulse,  but  still  and  patient  de 
termination,  as  we,  in  our  critical  capacity,  have 
sufficient  reason  to  know.  He  was  fond  of  society, 
though  English  in  his  manners;  that  is,  shy  and 
reserved,  covering  with  a  somewhat  supercilious 
bearing  the  conscious  want  of  self-possession.  But 
he  was  also  fond  to  enthusiasm  of  natural  scenery, 
a  taste  which  implies  a  certain  degree  of  refinement ; 
though  Lord  Brougham  represents  him  as  indifferent 
as  the  Chancellor  himself  is  to  the  fine  arts,  and 
willing  to  confess  that  deficiency  which  others  so 
ambitiously  conceal. 

Without  saying  any  thing  of  the  life  of  Simson 


MEN  OF  LETTERS  AND  SCIENCE ,  ART.  I.  247 

the  mathematician,  which  closes  this  first  volume, 
we  shall  only  express  our  satisfaction  at  seeing  these 
portraits  executed  by  so  eminent  a  hand.  Even  if 
they  had  no  other  value,  they  would  make  us  ac 
quainted  with  the  opinions  of  the  writer,  who  is  as 
much  a  subject  of  interest  as  any  individual  whose 
lineaments  he  has  drawn.  He  shows  a  familiarity 
with  the  details  of  science,  of  the  mathematics  par 
ticularly,  which  could  hardly  be  expected  after  the 
busy  and  tumultuous  life  which  he  has  led.  This 
cannot  be  a  mere  remnant  of  early  education :  he 
must  have  given  to  these  pursuits  the  same  sort  of 
attention  which  English  statesmen  generally  devote 
to  classical  studies  and  recollections.  And  the  effect 
is  seen  in  his  oratory,  as  reported,  where  strength 
and  energy  abound,  while  grace  and  elegance  are 
wanting.  His  style  is  bold  and  manly,  though 
sometimes  strangely  careless  and  lounging ;  but  it  is 
always  expressive  of  his  mind  and  heart,  and  through 
the  most  labyrinthian  sentence  it  is  always  easy  to 
follow  the  sentiments  and  reasoning  of  the  writer. 
These  are  strong  in  favor  of  liberality,  truth,  and 
freedom ;  too  strong  to  be  relished  always  by  the 
blind  adorers  of  the  past.  It  is  not  to  be  denied, 
that  there  is  here  and  there  some  slight  want  of 
Christian  meekness  ;  but  his  buffets  are  generally 
bestowed  on  those  who  deserve  them.  He  abounds 
in  unfriends,  as  the  Scotch  call  them  ;  having  carried 
on  for  years  a  large  and  successful  manufacture  of 
that  article,  which  few  desire  to  possess.  But,  on 
the  whole,  we  say,  Serus  in  cesium  redeat,  —  if  that 
be  his  destination,  which  the  persons  last  mentioned 


248  MEN  OF  LETTERS  AND  SCIENCE,  ART.  I. 

will  be  inclined  to  question ;  and,  whenever  he  de 
parts,  let  it  be  remembered,  that  he  lifted  his  heavy 
war-club  on  the  side  of  liberty  and  toleration,  and 
struck  many  a  crushing  blow  at  the  enemies  of  truth 
and  virtue,  while  soundly  belaboring  his  own. 


249 


MEN  OF  LETTERS  AND  SCIENCE. 

ART.  II. 


Lives  of  Men  of  Letters  and  Science,  who  flourished  in  the  Time 
of  George  the  Third.  By  HENRY,  LOUD  BROUGHAM,  F.R.S. 
Second  Series.  Philadelphia:  Carey  and  Hart,  1846;  12mo, 
pp.  302. 

WE  give  a  hearty  welcome  to  this  new  volume  from 
such  a  distinguished  hand.  It  contains  another 
series  of  animated  portraits,  struck  off  with  free  and 
bold  execution.  The  writer,  powerful  as  he  is,  has 
not,  in  every  respect,  the  best  qualifications  for  such 
a  work ;  but  the  reader  is  sure  of  finding  independ 
ent  views  and  valuable  information  ;  and,  if  there 
should  be  a  measure  of  prejudice  and  occasional 
passion,  this  will  only  prove  that  his  lordship  is  not 
exempt  from  the  misleading  influences  with  which 
less  gifted  minds  are  afflicted.  In  the  case  of  men 
of  science,  having  a  natural  taste  for  their  investiga 
tions,  he  has  entered  with  all  his  heart  into  those 
studies  and  discoveries  to  which  they  are  indebted 
for  their  fame.  With  moralists  and  literary  men,  he 
is  of  course  less  successful  and  happy.  But  a  mind 
like  his,  which  has  been  for  years  in  a  state  of 
intense  activity,  cannot  be  turned  to  any  subject 


2-50  MEN  OF  LETTERS  AND  SCIENCE,  ART.  II. 

without  throwing  light  upon  it,  though  it  may,  per- 
ad venture,  be  accompanied  with  occasional  bursts 
of  flame.  At  any  rate,  it  is  a  good  example  for  re 
tired  statesmen  thus  to  engage  in  intellectual  labors. 
Would  it  might  be  followed  by  persons  of  the  same 
description  in  this  country,  who,  after  escaping  from 
the  scuffle  of  politics  in  the  condition  of  Canning's 
"  needy  knife-grinder,"  with  garments  rent  in  twain, 
before  the  sartor  can  repair  the  damage  they  have 
sustained,  are  impatient  as  the  war-horse  to  be  in  the 
same  glorious  strife  again  ! 

It  is  rather  a  curious  procession  which  the  ex- 
chancellor  now  calls  up  from  the  deep.  At  its  head 
rolls  on  the  stern  and  melancholy  Johnson,  appa 
rently  not  aware  that  he  is  file-leader  to  the  eloquent 
Adam  Smith,  who  was  so  distasteful  to  him  when 
living,  that  it  would  not  be  strange  if  he  had  a  sharp 
word  to  say  to  him  even  in  the  land  of  souls.  They 
are  separated  by  the  Frenchman  Lavoisier,  as  a 
barricade,  from  the  spherical  form  of  the  sarcastic 
and  not  very  amiable  Gibbon.  Next  comes  Sir 
Joseph  Banks,  who,  with  great  forbearance,  does 
not  swear,  —~  out  of  fear,  perhaps,  of  him  who  leads 
the  van ;  and  last,  but  not  least,  appears  D' Alem- 
bert,  one  of  those  sketches  which  his  lordship,  who 
is  a  half-domesticated  Frenchman,  delights  to  draw, 
but  which  do  not  appear  to  be  received  by  readers 
in  France  with  unmingled  satisfaction,  perhaps  for 
the  reason  that  they  are  too  severely  true.  Critics 
of  that  nation  have  complained  of  want  of  novelty  in 
his  life  of  Voltaire  ;  but  they  do  not  say  whether  they 
expected  him  to  discover  new  facts  in  the  history  of 


MEN  OF  LETTERS  AND  SCIENCE,  ART.  II.  251 

one  who  spent  all  his  life  in  the  daylight,  or  whether 
they  wished  him  to  exert  his  inventive  genius  in  giv 
ing  a  charm  to  biographical  writing.  Others  have 
quarrelled  with  his  portrait  of  Rousseau,  as  it  would 
seem,  because  he  does  not  represent  that  mean- 
spirited  creature  as  a  great  philanthropist  and  bene 
factor  of  mankind.  But  if  any  one  rejoices  in  filth, 
and  is  disposed  to  make  declamation  pass  for  philan 
thropy,  he  will  find  that  the  eyes  of  the  world  are 
wide  open  ;  and  splendid  shillings,  if  counterfeit,  will 
be  left  on  the  hands  that  receive  them.  Meantime, 
Lord  Brougham  has  been  attacked  by  English  crit 
ics,  one  or  two  of  whom  he  has  paid  back  with  a 
compliment  which  will  not  make  them  impatient  for 
another.  In  their  desire  to  show  off  his  ignorance 
and  errors,  they  have  made  an  unseemly  exposure 
of  their  own.  But  on  the  whole,  as  his  language  is 
somewhat  lofty,  and  as  no  man  living  has  collected 
a  richer  variety  of  enemies  than  he,  it  is  not  strange 
if  some  should  take  this  indirect  way  to  resent  those 
wrongs  which  otherwise  they  would  have  no  means 
of  avenging. 

The  greatest  fault  in  this  writer's  portrait-painting 
proceeds  from  an  occasional  waywardness  and  haste, 
which  lead  him  into  views  and  representations  which 
his  slower  judgment  would  have  disapproved.  We 
need  not  go  far  for  an  illustration  of  the  truth  of  this 
remark :  there  is  the  case  of  Dr.  Johnson,  to  whom 
he  seems  disposed  to  render  justice,  though  with  the 
same  uncertainty  with  which  an  eel  may  be  supposed 
to  look  upon  the  movements  of  a  whale.  There  is 
a  passage  of  his  history  in  which  he  ascribes  to  him 


252  MEN  OF  LETTERS  AND  SCIENCE,  ART.  II. 

motives  and  feelings  which,  when  examined,  seem 
absurdly  untrue.  Thus,  when  the  widow  of  his 
friend  Thrale  married  Piozzi,  the  doctor,  like  every 
body  else  at  the  time,  considered  it  an  injudicious 
and  discreditable  connection ;  though,  with  the  single 
exception  of  the  word  "  ignominious,"  which  he 
applies  to  it,  there  is  nothing  indicating  excitement 
of  feeling ;  and  it  should  be  remembered,  that  this 
word,  which  sounds  so  formidable,  was  but  one  of 
the  ponderous  missiles  which  he  was  accustomed  to 
employ.  Lord  Brougham  professes  himself  unable 
to  see  why  it  was  not  a  very  tolerable  match,  and 
thinks  that  Johnson's  opposition  to  it  must  have 
arisen  from  an  attachment  to  her  on  his  own  part. 
Now,  if  this  was  so,  all  the  world  must  have  been 
smitten  with  her  charms,  for  there  was  a  perfect 
unanimity  of  opinion  as  to  the  course  which  she 
pursued ;  and,  as  Lord  Brougham  evidently  knows 
nothing  more  than  others  about  Piozzi's  character 
and  standing,  his  conjectures  will  not  outweigh  the 
judgment  which  they  had  better  opportunities  of 
forming.  As  to  the  doctor's  affection,  we  speak 
with  diffidence,  having  had  very  little  experience  in 
these  affairs  of  the  heart :  but  it  does  not  seem  to 
us,  that  at  the  age  of  seventy-five  he  would  be  trans 
ported  with  the  tender  passion  ;  nor  that,  with  one 
foot  in  the  grave,  he  would  have  engaged  in  a  love- 
chase  with  any  brilliant  promise  of  success.  His 
lordship  makes  himself  merry  with  the  aristocratic 
feeling  of  these  humble  persons,  who  considered  her 
marriage  with  Piozzi  as  a  degradation  ;  and,  sure 
enough,  it  is  ridiculous  for  one  earthly  potsherd  to 


.  MEN  OP  T/ETTERS  ANT)  SCIENCE,   ART.   II.  253 

look  clown  upon  another,  which  happens  to  be  an 
inch  or  two  lower  in  the  dust.  But  such  is  the  way 
of  the  world ;  it  is  universal,  although  it  be  not  a 
true  nor  wise  one  ;  and  well  as  he  discourses  on  the 
subject,  theoretically  considered,  we  strongly  appre 
hend,  that,  if  the  case  should  be  his  own,  and  a 
daughter  of  his  house  should  marry  a  foreign  adven 
turer,  he  would  set  up  an  outcry  of  wrath  and  vexa 
tion  that  might  be  heard  across  the  deep. 

We  do  not  think,  that  this  writer,  in  his  estimate  of 
Johnson,  makes  sufficient  allowance  for  the  effect 
of  the  disease  which  hung  like  a  millstone  round  his 
neck  through  all  his  mortal  existence,  —  a  disease 
which  brings  with  it  every  form  of  gloom  and  irrita 
bility,  and  which,  in  his  case,  was  aggravated  by  the 
loneliness  in  which  he  lived;  for  it  is  remarkable, 
that,  with  his  Avonderful  power  of  conversation,  his 
society  should  have  been  so  little  sought ;  though, 
indeed,  if  the  circle  in  which  he  moved  had  been 
ever  so  extensive  and  inspiring,  it  could  not  have 
afforded  him  the  relief  and  comfort  of  a  home.  And 
yet  his  lordship  has  had,  as  he  says,  unusual  advan 
tages  for  observing  this  fearful  complaint,  of  seeing 
the  paralyzing  influence  which  it  exerts  upon  the 
mind  and  the  will,  and  the  deadly  aversion  which  it 
gives  to  those  active  efforts  in  which  the  only  remedy 
can  be  found.  This  disorder  was  deeply  engrained 
in  Johnson's  constitution ;  it  brought  with  it  a  sense 
of  ever-present  misery,  and  oppressed  him  with  dark 
forebodings  ;  he  evidently  feared  the  time  when  the 
intellect  would  sink  under  it,  leaving  him  a  miserable 
ruin.  Had  physical  education  been  understood  in 

22 


254  MEN  OF   LETTERS  ANB  SCIENCE,  ART.  11.  , 

his  day,  he  might  possibly  have  been  relieved  by 
attention  to  diet  and  exercise,  which  no  one  then 
seemed  to  suspect  had  any  connection  with  health ? 
or  the  want  of  it.  One  brave  effort  of  that  kind  he 
made,  in  giving  up  the  stimulating  drinks  of  all  kinds 
to  which  he  had  resorted  for  relief,  —  an  abstinence 
in  which  he  persevered  to  the  last ;  but  generally,  in 
this  instance,  as  in  that  of  Collins  and  Cowper,  the 
malady  seems  to  have  been  treated  as  a  visitation  of 
God,  with  which  there  was  no  such  thing  as  con 
tending.  When  one  thipks  of  his  long  struggle  with 
poverty ;  of  his  dining  behind  a  screen  at  Cave's? 
because  too  meanly  dressed  to  appear  at  that  great 
man's  table ;  of  his  supporting  life  for  a  long  time 
on  less  than  sixpence  a  day ;  of  his  occasional  en 
joyment  of  conversation  with  men  like  Burke,  which, 
when  it  was  over,  left  him  in  solitude  and  sorrow ; 
of  the  plaintive  manner  in  which  he  would  entreat 
others  to  sit  up  with  him,  that  he  might  escape  as 
long  as  possible  the  terrors  of  the  night,  —  it  gives 
us  a  view  of  his  condition,  which,  one  would  think, 
would  excuse  many  of  those  petulant  expressions 
that  appear  numerous  because  Boswell  has  faithfully 
recorded  them,  and  has  not  always  stated  that  it  was 
his  own  folly  which  brought  down  the  shower-bath 
of  compliments  upon  his  head.  We  learn  from  Miss 
Reynolds,  who  was  the  Griffith  among  his  chroni 
clers,  that  he  gave  the  impression  of  a  man  of  un 
hewn  manners,  but  of  a  kind  and  affectionate  heart. 
And,  while  we  do  not  undervalue  that  grace  of  life 
in  which  he  was  so  sadly  wanting,  it  is  but  right  to 
remember  his  active  and  self-denying  charity ;  it  is 


MEN  OF  LETTERS  AND  SCIENCE,  ART.  II.  255 

but  right  to  ask  of  those  who  censure  him,  if  they 
would  be  ready  to  receive  and  support  two  helpless 
and  unattractive  women,  together  with  a  poor  phy 
sician,  whose  practice,  unprofitable  to  himself,  was 
probably  far  more  so  to  his  victims ;  forming  a  com 
munity  in  which  a  favor  done  to  one  gave  a  pang  to 
the  rest,  and  where  he  himself  found  so  little  com 
fort,  that  he  dreaded  to  enter  his  own  door,  but 
would  not  dislodge  them,  because  they  could  have 
no  home  but  for  him.  Truly,  if  it  was  required  of 
those  who  censure  Johnson  to  exercise  equal  gene 
rosity,  the  voices  of  condemnation  would  be  few  and 
small. 

While  Lord  Brougham,  as  it  seems  to  us,  hardly 
does  justice  to  the  great  moralist,  presenting  a  view 
of  him  which  is  deficient  in  harmony  and  wholeness, 
and  made  up  of  parts  not  always  consistent  with 
each  other,  the  shade  of  Boswell  would  be  beside 
itself  with  exultation  to  find  his  own  opinion  of  his 
own  merits  confirmed  by  so  competent  a  judge  ;  for 
assuredly  the  Auchinleck  patrician  never  dreamed 
that  his  connection  with  Johnson  would  suggest  to 
any  human  mind  the  recollection  of  the  intercourse 
of  Plato  and  Xenophon  with  Socrates.  His  lordship 
praises  not  only  his  tact,  cleverness,  and  skill,  but 
his  admirable  good-humor,  his  strict  love  of  truth, 
his  high  and  generous  principle,  his  kindness  to  his 
friends,  and  his  well-meant  but  sometimes  grotesque 
devotion ;  and  says  that  his  book,  once  taken  up,  is 
the  most  difficult  of  all  others  to  lay  down.  Cer 
tainly,  no  man  of  really  intellectual  taste  ever  joins 
m  the  contempt  which  is  poured  on  Boswell's  name  ; 


256  MEN  OF  LETTERS  AND  SCIENCE,  ART.  II. 

nor,  on  the  other  hand,  will  many  be  ready  to  sub 
scribe  to  such  extensive  praise  as  this.  The  truth 
is,  that  his  contemporaries  were  as  much  at  a  loss  to 
know  what  place  to  assign  him  as  men  of  the  pre 
sent  day.  Lord  Stowell,  when  pressed  on  the 
subject,  could  only  say  that  he  was  universally  wel 
come  as  a  "jolly  fellow."  It  was  his  pleasure  to 
parade  those  weaknesses  which  most  men  keep  to 
themselves ;  and,  as  he  kept  his  banner  of  folly  per 
petually  flying,  they  did  no  justice  to  the  merits 
which  he  possessed  in  no  small  degree.  What  but 
a  strong  admiration  of  intellectual  power  could  have 
induced  him  to  lead  the  life  which  he  did  ?  And  it 
shows  how  oddly  our  notions  of  high  and  low  are 
perverted,  that  so  many  wonder  at  his  submitting  to 
the  caprice  of  Johnson,  while  it  is  considered  per 
fectly  natural  that  such  a  person  as  Miss  Burney 
should  feel  herself  honored  by  the  trust  of  preparing 
snuff  for  the  queen. 

We  have  no  disposition  to  find  fault  with  Lord 
Brougham's  estimate  of  Johnson's  literary  merits; 
and  what  he  says  of  the  style  of  the  great  moralist 
is  altogether  discriminating  and  true.  To  Johnson's 
poetry  he  assigns  a  rank  perhaps  too  high,  if  it  be 
regarded  as  poetry ;  but  when  we  regard  it  as  elo 
quent  and  powerful  declamation,  like  that  of  Ju 
venal,  against  the  vices  and  follies  of  the  times,  it 
certainly  exhibits  a  striking  union  of  deep  feeling 
with  majesty  and  might.  He  loved  the  regular 
cadences  of  verse,  which  he  is  said  to  have  read  in  a 
very  impressive  way ;  and  we  see,  in  fact,  in  his 
prose,  that  measured  step  and  those  balanced  periods 


MEN  OF  LETTERS  AND  SCIENCE,  ART.  II.  257 

which  would  seem  wearily  formal  and  mechanical  in 
any  other,  but  which  affect  us  differently  in  his  case, 
because  they  are  the  natural  expression  of  his  mind. 
Some  of  his  writings  Lord  Brougham  characterizes 
as  dull  and  flimsy,  in  which  he  has  reference  princi 
pally  to  the  "  Rambler  "  and  "  Idler,"  and  seems  to 
us  to  express  a  hasty  and  ill-considered  opinion.  Dull 
the  "  Rambler  "  may  be,  but  flimsy  it  is  not :  it  is 
dull  to  us  because  it  was  an  ephemeral  publication, 
which  found  readers,  and  satisfied  them  in  the  day 
for  which  it  was  intended ;  and,  if  it  has  lost  its 
attraction,  it  is  in  the  same  predicament  with  the 
"  Spectator,"  which  no  one  now  thinks  of  sitting 
down  to  devour.  That  it  was  not  wholly  specu 
lative  and  unpractical,  appears  from  the  circumstance 
pointed  out  by  Lord  Brougham  himself,  that  John 
son,  in  some  of  these  light  periodicals,  has  an  able 
argument  against  imprisonment  for  debt,  and  capital 
punishment ;  thus  anticipating,  by  three  quarters  of  a 
century,  questions  of  great  interest,  which  his  own 
age  cared  little  for,  but  which  have  become  subjects 
of  vast  importance  at  the  present  day. 

We  fully  accede  to  the  justice  of  the  opinion  which 
pronounces  the  "Lives  of  the  Poets"  the  best  of 
Johnson's  works.  Some  of  these  biographies  are 
spoken  of  with  contempt,  for  their  prejudice  and 
narrowness,  by  those  who  have  never  read  them. 
Lord  Brougham  thinks  the  life  of  Milton,  for  exam 
ple,  does  not  deserve  the  censure  usually  cast  upon 
it ;  and  any  one  can  see,  that,  while  Johnson  had  no 
sympathy  with  Milton's  politics,  and  was  unable  to 
appreciate  the  peculiar  beauties  of  "  Lycidas,"  he 

22* 


258  MEN  OF  LETTERS  AND  SCIENCE,  ART.  II. 

assigns  to  the  "Paradise  Lost"  a  place  among  the 
highest  efforts  of  the  human  mind.  The  life  of  Sav 
age  is  here  spoken  of  as  overpraised,  and  that  of 
Swift  as  most  objectionable ;  while  it  is  admitted, 
that  Johnson  may  have  been  so  severe  on  the  Dean 
of  St.  Patrick's  because  he  was  so  untrue  to  the  sa 
cred  profession,  which,  with  his  tastes  and  principles, 
he  ought  never  to  have  assumed.  As  to  Johnson's 
prejudices,  whatever  they  were,  they  never  worked 
in  darkness :  he  always  fearlessly  avowed  them ; 
while  his  clear-headed  sagacity,  his  sharp  critical 
discernment,  his  manly  indignation  at  every  thing 
unworthy,  his  occasionally  profound  discussions,  and 
pointed  and  glittering  remarks,  giving  life  to  the 
narrative,  which  generally  flows  full  with  thought, 
and,  among  other  attractions,  his  occasional  solem 
nity  and  tenderness  of  feeling,  —  these  various  merits 
are  united  in  a  work  which  will  never  lose  its  charm 
for  intellectual  readers  so  long  as  our  language 
endures. 

But  Dr.  Johnson's  works  of  various  kinds,  excel 
lent  and  instructive  as  they  are,  will  be  more  or  less 
esteemed  as  the  literary  fashion  changes;  always 
sure,  however,  of  readers  of  the  higher  order,  how 
ever  neglected  by  the  light  and  trifling  generation 
who  disdain  all  things  but  new.  If  they  were  lost 
and  forgotten,  his  fame  would  rest  securely  on  his 
conversation  as  Boswell  has  recorded  it,  which  is  un 
rivalled  for  its  point,  brilliancy,  and  strength :  it  is 
here  that  his  clear  and  powerful  mind  makes  the 
richest  display  of  its  activity,  and  the  vast  variety  of 
its  resources.  It  goes  straight  as  a  cannon-ball  to 


MEN  OF  LETTERS  AND  SCIENCE,  ART.  II.  259 

the  heart  of  every  subject ;  with  intuitive  discernment 
he  sees  the  matter  at  once  in  all  its  bearings ;  no 
mysticism  nor  illusion  can  stand  for  a  moment  before 
him ;  but,  so  far  from  giving  a  cold  dissection  of  the 
question  presented,  his  views  are  made  interesting  by 
the  finest  possible  illustrations,  and  that  quick  sar 
casm  and  playful  humor,  always  at  perfect  command, 
in  which  he  was  never  exceeded.  We  do  not  well 
understand  on  what  authority  Lord  Brougham  un 
dertakes  to  place  Swift  before  him.  The  dean's 
range  was  limited,  he  says ;  but  within  it  he  must  have 
been  very  great.  It  is  true  that  he  had  that  strong 
common  sense  and  wit  which  are  among  the  chief 
elements  of  success ;  but  we  do  not  know  that  he 
had  the  overflowing  abundance  and  easy  command 
of  his  resources  which  conversation  requires.  Addi- 
son,  too,  he  says,  has  left  a  great  reputation  of  this 
kind ;  and  Bolingbroke's  superiority  to  all  others 
cannot  be  doubted.  But  it  seems  to  us,  that  he 
might  as  well  exalt  the  social  powers  of  Adam  and 
Eve,  who  may  have  been  great  in  conversation  for 
aught  we  know,  though  the  existing  records  of  it  are 
quite  too  few  to  sustain  a  confident  opinion. 

When  Lord  Brougham  speaks  of  Johnson's  con 
versation  as  no  conversation  in  any  proper  sense 
of  the  word,  as  destitute  of  all  free  interchange  of 
thought,  and  allowing  no  free  discussion  of  senti 
ments  and  opinions,  he  is  evidently  misled  by  Bos- 
well's  record ;  for  that  worthy  did  not  care  to  set 
down  any  thing  but  what  Johnson  said  :  the  remarks 
of  others  were  introduced  only  when  they  served  as 
suggestions  for  his  own.  It  would  have  been  in- 


260  MEN  OF  LETTERS  AND  SCIENCE,  ART,  II, 

human  to  require  of  him  to  treasure  up  all  the  lifeless? 
and  indifferent  things  which  were  said,  merely  for 
the  sake  of  keeping  the  enlireness  of  the  conversa 
tion.  And  yet  the  prominence  which  is  thus  given 
to  the  remarks  of  Johnson  makes  them  appear  or 
acular  and  dictatorial,  as  if  to  hear  what  he  would 
say  was  the  only  object  and  concern  of  the  whole 
party.  Now  Bos  well  had  this  feeling,  —  that  it  was 
the  province  of  all  others  to  listen,  and  Johnson's 
alone  to  speak  ;  but  others,  doubtless,  viewed  the 
matter  in  a  different  light ;  and  these  were  like  all 
other  conversations,  in  which  each  one  took  his  share, 
while  Johnson  bore  the  most  distinguished  part,  — 
as,  indeed,  he  would,  were  he  living  in  any  circle  of 
the  present  day.  Let  the  attempt  be  made  to  record 
the  sayings  of  any  other  master  of  conversation,  — 
Sir  James  Mackintosh,  for  example,  —  and  one 
easily  sees  that  in  these  social  efforts  Johnson  has  no 
brother  near  his  throne. 

Though  Lord  Brougham,  in  his  particular  criti 
cisms  on  Dr.  Johnson's  mind  and  character,  is  not 
always  entirely  just,  his  summary  of  the  whole  is 
given  in  terms  to  which  no  objection  can  be  made. 
He  says  that  those  who  saw  him  but  once  or  twice 
formed  an  erroneous  estimate  of  his  temper,  which 
was  rather  kindly  and  sociable,  and  not  at  all  sullen 
or  morose ;  he  allows  that  Johnson,  to  the  last,  had 
nothing  of  that  severity  and  querulousness  which  the 
old  are  so  apt  to  feel.  He  admits  that  he  was 
friendly,  actively  so,  in  the  highest  degree ;  that  he 
was  even  imprudently  charitable  ;  that  he  was  strictly 
and  always  just ;  that  his  love  of  truth  was  wonder- 


MEN  OF  LETTERS  AND  SCIENCE,  ART.  II.  261 

ful,  in  matters  both  small  and  great ;  and  that  his 
habitual  piety,  his  sense  of  his  own  unworthiness, 
and  his  generally  blameless  life,  entitled  him  to  a 
place  among  the  good  and  great ;  while  he  showed 
his  right  appreciation  of  this  world's  honors,  by  at 
taching  more  importance  to  his  worth  than  to  his 
fame.  Certainly  this  is  high  praise,  and  such  as  few 
can  ever  deserve.  But  we  do  not  see  in  this  writer 
the  hearty  sympathy  with  which  Carlyle,  for  exam 
ple,  enters  into  the  struggles  and  sorrows  of  "  brave 
old  Samuel,"  admires  the  heroism  and  manly  inde 
pendence  of  his  bearing,  and  does  not  upbraid  him 
with  the  coarseness  of  his  manners,  out  of  respect 
for  the  firm  energy  with  which,  through  his  dreary 
voyage  of  life,  he  forced  his  strained  and  shattered 
vessel,  "  built  in  the  eclipse,"  through  the  dark  and 
resisting  sea. 

Next  in  order  is  Adam  Smith,  who  is  represented 
in  Croker's  Boswell,  the  main  characteristic  of  which 
is  a  brave  neglect  of  dates  and  all  kinds  of  precision, 
as  having  come  in  conflict  with  Johnson,  when  the 
latter  was  on  his  northern  tour.  It  is  said,  that 
the  subject  of  difference  was  Smith's  account  of 
Hume's  last  sickness ;  that  Johnson,  with  his  usual 
benignity,  told  Smith  that  he  lied,  and  that  he  of  the 
"  Moral  Sentiments,"  in  return,  applied  to  the  mo 
ralist  a  term  which  properly  belongs  to  younger 
branches  of  the  canine  race,  and  is  not  often,  we 
believe,  used  in  the  best  society  with  respect  to 
them,  —  though  of  this  we  speak  doubtfully,  having 
no  means  in  our  solitary  attic  of  knowing  what  re 
finements  may  have  been  introduced  by  the  elegant 


262  MEN  OF  LETTERS  AND  SCIENCE,  ART.  II. 

literature  of  the  day.  It  is  a  pity  to  disturb  the  story 
of  this  classical  communion ;  but,  as  Johnson  was  in 
Scotland  in  1773,  and  Hume  died  in  1776,  it  was 
certainly  premature  in  the  doctor  to  take  offence 
three  years  before  offence  was  given.  In  fact,  this 
slight  anachronism  brings  the  authenticity  of  the 
whole  account  into  serious  question ;  not,  however, 
to  the  disparagement  of  Sir  Walter  Scott,  whom 
Lord  Brougham  is  inclined  to  blame  for  it.  He, 
indeed,  reported  it  to  Croker ;  but  he  said  distinctly 
that  he  had  it  from  Professor  John  Millar,  to  whom, 
therefore,  the  responsibility  belongs.  It  was,  no 
doubt,  an  imaginative  picture  of  what  the  meeting  of 
these  two  great  men,  if  they  came  together,  was 
likely  to  have  been  ;  dealing  with  the  future  as  Mr. 
Landor  brings  up  the  voices  of  the  past. 

Not  much  is  known  of  the  early  days  of  Adam 
Smith,  save  that  he  was  stolen  by  gypsies  in  his 
childhood,  but  soon  happily  rescued  ;  and  that  his 
delicate  health  in  youth  drove  him  to  the  usual  re 
source  of  books  and  study.  Having  obtained  an 
exhibition  for  Baliol  College,  he  spent  seven  years 
at  Oxford,  but  afterwards  retained  very  little  rever 
ence  and  affection  for  that  time-honored  institution. 
Of  the  enlargement  of  mind  which  then  distinguished 
it,  some  judgment  may  be  formed  from  the  fact,  that 
he  was  sharply  reprimanded  for  reading  Hume's 
"  Treatise  of  Human  Nature  ;  "  and  the  ray  of  light 
which  was  struggling  in  at  the  keyhole  was  extin 
guished  by  taking  such  works  away.  At  the  age  of 
twenty-nine,  he  filled  the  chair  of  Moral  Philosophy 
in  the  University  of  Glasgow ;  a  place  for  which  he 


MEN  OF  LETTERS  AND  SCIENCE,  ART.  II.  263 

was  admirably  suited  by  his  power  of  communication 
as  well  as  by  the  habits  of  his  mind,  as  he  spoke  with 
great  fluency  when  once  engaged  in  his  subject,  and 
was  listened  to  with  the  enthusiasm  which  his  ability, 
accompanied  by  a  popular  manner,  might  be  ex 
pected  to  inspire.  It  is  much  to  be  regretted,  that 
his  lectures  were  destroyed  by  his  own  hand  before 
he  died.  The  course  of  Natural  Theology  was  one 
which  would  have  great  interest  for  readers  of  the 
present  day  ;  and  such  was  the  variety  of  suggestion 
always  flowing  from  his  active  and  fertile  mind,  that 
every  part  must  have  contained  much  to  interest  and 
instruct  mankind. 

It  was  in  1759,  that  Adam  Smith  published  his 
"  Theory  of  Moral  Sentiments,"  a  work  so  eloquent 
and  interesting  that  it  could  not  fail  to  meet  with 
immediate  and  general  success.  This  was  the  case 
in  Great  Britain,  though,  as  Grimm  tells  us,  it 
entirely  failed  in  Paris,  a  region  where  moral  senti 
ments  are  generally  in  but  little  demand.  It  is  true 
that  the  leading  principle  of  the  work,  resolving  all 
moral  approbation  into  sympathy,  is  quite  too  narrow 
to  be  true,  as  would  be  felt  at  once  by  any  thought 
ful  reader  ;  but,  considered  as  a  treatise  on  sympathy, 
or  a  view  of  some  aspects  of  human  nature,  seen 
with  searching  discrimination,  and  presented  in  a 
rich  and  fascinating  style,  it  would  not  be  easy  to 
say  too  much  in  its  praise.  One  effect  of  the  fame 
of  this  work  was  to  recommend  him  to  Charles 
Townshend,  who  had  married  the  Duchess  of  Buc- 
cleuch,  and  who  employed  him  to  accompany  the 
young  duke,  her  son,  upon  his  travels.  This  gave 


264  MEN  OF  LETTERS  AND  SCIENCE,  ART.  II. 

him  an  opportunity  of  forming  an  acquaintance  with 
the  eminent  men  upon  the  continent,  and  ultimately 
led  to  his  appointment  as  a  revenue  officer ;  one  of 
those  splendid  rewards  of  intellectual  greatness  which 
are  held  forth  as  a  bounty  to  such  efforts  in  England, 
and  of  late  in  this  country.  There,  the  iron-headed 
wolves  who  rob  and  murder  in  the  service  of  the 
state  are  heaped  with  estates,  titles,  and  orders,  while 
such  men  as  Burns  are  made  excisemen  at  the  rate 
of  seventy  pounds  a  year.  Here,  men  of  fine  talent 
and  manly  understanding  may  peradventure  have  a 
place  in  the  custom-house,  while  all  rich  pastures  are 
carefully  reserved  for  the  worthless  cattle  who  move 
in  the  droves  of  party. 

There  was  another  less  questionable  advantage 
which  Dr.  Smith  secured  by  means  of  his  residence 
abroad :  this  was  the  acquaintance  of  distinguished 
men,  particularly  in  France,  where  he  found  those 
whose  tastes  and  investigations  were  similar  to  his 
own.  Among  these  was  Quesnay,  of  whom  we  hear 
in  Marmontel's  "  Memoirs,"  who  had  acquired  a 
great  reputation  by  his  writings  on  political  economy ; 
a  science  which  had  attracted  attention  in  its  various 
parts  from  the  middle  of  the  last  century,  and  which 
he  was  endeavoring  to  reduce  to  a  systematic  and 
practical  form.  Though  the  public  at  large  were 
unable  to  comprehend  the  point  and  value  of  Ques- 
nay's  suggestions,  he  was  admired  by  such  men  as 
Condorcet,  Turgot,  and  the  elder  Mirabeau,  "  the 
crabbed  old  friend  of  man."  Dr.  Smith  had  such 
an  opinion  of  his  ability  and  excellence,  that  he 
would  have  dedicated  the  "  Wealth  of  Nations  "  to 


MEN  OF  LETTERS  AND  SCIENCE,  ART.  II. 

him,  if  Quesnay  had  lived  to  receive  the  attention. 
He  was  not  sufficiently  master  of  the  French  lan 
guage  to  speak  it  fluently  ;  but  he  was  able  to  com 
municate  with  such  men  as  this,  though  not  to 
chatter  with  the  apes  and  peacocks  of  fashionable 
circles ;  a  privation,  however,  which  he  bore  with 
great  fortitude. 

About  a  dozen  years  after  this  European  tour, 
appeared  the  celebrated  "  Inquiry  into  the  Nature 
and  Causes  of  the  Wealth  of  Nations,"  a  work  which 
is  the  surest  foundation  of  his  fame ;  for,  although  it 
was  anticipated  in  its  doctrines  by  the  French  and 
Italian  philosophers,  it  was  so  marked,  as  Hume 
said,  by  depth,  solidity,  acuteness,  and  power  of  illus 
tration,  that  it  placed  him  at  the  head  of  all  who  had 
attended  to  this  great  subject,  not  even  excepting  the 
historian  himself,  whose  own  essays  upon  these  ques 
tions  possessed  all  the  merits  which  he  delighted  to 
ascribe  to  those  of  his  friend.  It  is  not  to  be  under 
stood  that  Dr.  Smith's  views  were  borrowed :  his 
way  was  to  elaborate  those  truths  for  himself  in  the 
solitude  and  silence  of  his  own  mind.  If  he  was 
indebted  to  any  one,  it  was  probably  to  Hume, 
whose  essays  may  have  been  the  means  of  turning 
his  attention  to  these  inquiries.  In  the  year  when 
those  remarkable  essays  were  published,  he  began  to 
lecture  on  political  economy  in  Glasgow ;  and,  from 
the  character  of  his  intellectual  life,  we  may  readily 
infer  that  his  views  were  original  in  himself,  though 
others  may  at  the  same  time  have  reached  conclu 
sions  resembling  his  own. 

It  was  shortly  after  the   publication  of  this  great 
23 


266  MEN  OF  LETTERS  AND  SCIENCE,  ART.  II. 

work  that  he  received  the  appointment  of  commis 
sioner  of  the  customs  ;   a  compliment  about  as  ade 
quate  to  his  merits  and  claims  as  if  Le  Verrier,  in 
acknowledgment  of  his  late  scientific  exploit,  should 
be  appointed  to  superintend  a  church-clock  in  his 
native  city.     It  gave  him  a  subsistence,  indeed  ;  but 
the  duties  of  the  office  were  incessant  and  vexatious, 
peculiarly  unsuited  to  one  who  was  remarkable  for 
his  absence  of  mind,  an  infirmity  carried  so  far  that  he 
would  often  talk  in  company,  perfectly  unconscious 
of  their  presence  ;   and,  in  some  instances,  he  would 
enlighten  those  about  him  as  to  his  opinion  of  their 
merits,  disclosing  much  more  than  they  delighted  to 
know.    He  moved  through  the  streets  with  his  hands 
behind  him  and  his  head  in  the  air,  wholly  uncon 
scious  of  any  obstructions  that  might  be  in  his  way. 
On  one  occasion  he  overturned  the  stall  of  a  fiery  old 
woman,  who,  finding  him  perfectly  unmoved  by  her 
tempest  of  salutations,  caught  him  by  his  garment, 
saying,  "  Speak  to  me,  or  I  shall  die."     It  is  rather 
singular,  that,  with  these  habits,  he  could  accomplish 
any  thing  in  the  way  of  official  duty  ;  and  the  beauty 
and  fitness  of  such  rewards  of  intellectual  greatness 
were  manifested  in  the  necessity  which  it  brought 
with  it,  of  suspending  those  labors  of  the  mind,  which, 
though  they  would  not  answer  for  the  custom-house, 
might  have  enlightened  and  blessed  the  world.    Rich 
and  active  as  his  mind  was,  the  preparation  of  his 
great  works  required  great  expense  of  labor  and  time. 
His  habit  of  composition,  too,  was  laborious  and 
slow ;  it  never  became  easier  by  practice,  but,  as  he 
told  Mr.  Stewart  not  long  before  his  death,  he  always 


MEN  OF  LETTERS  AND  SCIENCE,  ART.  II.  267 

wrote  with  the  same  difficulty  as  at  first ;  or,  perhaps 
we  should  say,  he  spoke  ;  for,  instead  of  writing  with 
his  own  hand,  he  employed  an  amanuensis,  to  whom 
he  dictated  as  he  walked  about  the  room.  He  was 
unfortunately  fastidious  in  his  judgment  of  his  own 
works ;  he  had  eighteen  folio  volumes  of  his  own 
writing,  which  he  ordered  to  be  destroyed  before  his 
death.  His  friends  promised  that  it  should  be  done ; 
but  he  was  not  satisfied  till  the  sacrifice  was  actually 
made,  and  the  labor  of  so  many  years  was  reduced 
to  dust  and  ashes.  He  said  that  he  meant  to  have 
done  more,  and  there  were  materials  in  his  manu 
scripts  out  of  which  he  could  have  made  much  ; 
but  he  had  not  time  for  it,  and  all  was  lost  to  the 
world.  Will  such  governments  as  that  of  England 
ever  become  sufficiently  enlightened  to  withdraw 
some  portion  of  the  immense  amount  now  spent  in 
prizes  for  bloodshed,  and  appropriate  it  to  the  sup 
port  of  those  who,  in  a  day  of  higher  civilization, 
will  be  at  once  the  glory  and  the  shame  of  their 
country  ?  —  a  country  which  knows  its  true  interest 
and  honor  no  better  than  to  lavish  dukedoms  and 
princely  fortunes  on  Marlborough  and  Wellington, 
while  these  men,  in  every  respect  of  mind  and  char 
acter  immeasurably  above  mere  soldiers,  are  thought 
highly  blessed  to  receive  from  it  enough  to  keep  body 
and  soul  together  in  the  dreary  winter  of  their  days. 
Nothing  can  be  more  attractive  than  the  account 
which  Lord  Brougham  gives  of  Smith's  disposition. 
His  benevolence  was  often  carried  beyond  his  means, 
and  always  delicate  in  its  regard  to  the  feelings  of 
others.  His  principles  of  integrity  were  firm  and  high. 


268  MEN  OF  LETTERS  AND  SCIENCE,  ART.  II. 

The  thoughtfulness  of  study,  the  demands  of  ill 
health,  had  no  tendency  to  make  him  selfish ;  and  the 
approaches  of  age  did  not  chill  the  warmth  of  his 
affections.  His  mother  lived  with  him  till  her  death, 
in  1784 ;  and,  after  her  death,  his  cousin,  Miss  Dou 
glas,  took  charge  of  his  family  for  the  four  succeeding 
years.  Her  decease,  in  1788,  deprived  him  of  most 
of  the  comforts  of  his  hospitable  home  ;  but  he  lin 
gered  on  with  broken  health  and  spirits,  though  with 
an  equal  mind,  till  1790,  when  a  painful  disorder 
brought  him  down  to  the  grave.  A  few  days  before 
he  died,  several  distinguished  friends,  who  were  ac 
customed  to  sup  with  him  on  Sunday,  were  with  him  ; 
when,  finding  himself  unable  to  go  with  them  to  the 
table,  he  said,  "  I  believe  we  must  adjourn  this  meet 
ing  to  some  other  place ;  "  after  which  they  never 
met  again.  His  complaints  were  of  the  kind  which 
are  brought  on  by  over-exertion  of  the  brain  and  the 
inactivity  of  a  literary  life.  At  one  time  he  believed 
he  had  found  a  panacea  for  his  diseases  in  tar-water, 
which  was  recommended  by  so  great  an  authority 
as  Berkeley,  and  was  hailed  with  as  much  enthu 
siasm  as  sundry  other  nostrums,  each  of  which 
works  miracles  for  the  time,  though  unfortunately 
its  wonders  and  glories  are  too  good  to  last.  The 
history  of  all  such  inventions  and  discoveries  is 
written  in  two  passages  of  his  letters.  In  one  he 
says  :  "  Tar- water  is  a  remedy  in  vogue  here  for 
almost  all  diseases :  it  has  perfectly  cured  me  of  an 
inveterate  scurvy  and  shaking  in  the  head."  But, 
not  long  after  this  happy  restoration,  he  says  that 
he  has  had  those  complaints  as  long  as  he  remem- 


MEN  OF  LETTERS  AND  SCIENCE,  ART.  II.  269 

bers  any  thing,  and  "  the  tar- water  has  not  removed 
them." 

The  letter  of  Adam  Smith  in  which  he  describes 
the  closing  life  of  Hume  has  been  the  subject  of 
much  remark,  not  very  complimentary  in  its  tone  ; 
for,  in  former  days,  many,  who  manifested  no  other 
interest  in  Christianity,  were  furious  against  unbe 
lievers  ;  and  nothing  could  be  more  unscrupulous 
than  the  manner  in  which  they  abused  those  sinners, 
by  way  of  giving  them  a  taste  of  the  religion  of  love. 
Few  men  have  ever  received  so  much  of  this  friendly 
attention  as  Hume.  His  crime  seemed  to  be,  that  he 
was  not  so  wicked  as,  in  their  opinion,  an  infidel 
ought  to  be.  Of  this  offence  he  was  certainly  guilty  ; 
and  so  odious  did  it  make  him,  that  it  required  some 
courage  in  the  good-natured  Boswell,  even  under 
Johnson's  broadside,  to  tell  him  that  "  he  was  better 
than  his  books ;  "  a  eulogy  which,  proceeding  from 
such  a  quarter,  might,  one  would  think,  have  turned 
his  brain  for  ever.  Now,  though  religionists  at  the 
time  had  no  patience  with  his  serenity  and  cheerful 
ness,  still,  if  he  possessed  that  equanimity  in  his  clos 
ing  hour,  there  is  no  good  reason  why  his  friend 
should  not  mention  it  even  in  words  of  praise.  It  is 
true  he  had  no  right  understanding  of  the  religious 
relations  in  which  he  stood  ;  but  this  should  be  dealt 
with  as  a  misfortune,  rather  than  as  one  of  the  seven 
'  deadly  sins.  Those  who  press  their  censures  be 
yond  the  bounds  of  justice  always  throw  the  general 
sympathy  on  the  opposite  side.  What  Dr.  Smith's 
religious  opinions  were,  it  is  not  easy  to  say :  there 
are  none  of  his  writings  in  which  he  has  disclosed 

23* 


270  MEN  OF  LETTERS  AND  SCIENCE,  ART.  II. 

them.  Lord  Brougham  thinks  that  there  are  allu 
sions  enough  to  a  Divine  Providence,  and  the  hopes 
of  a  future  state,  to  remove  all  doubts  on  the  subject ; 
but,  if  he  was  alienated  from  Christianity,  and  we 
have  some  fears  that  he  was,  it  was  probably  owing 
in  part  to  the  abuse  which  Christians,  so  called,  had 
heaped  without  measure  upon  his  friend. 

Lord  Brougham  passes  to  the  Englishman  Gibbon, 
if  English  he  may  be  called  who  prided  himself  on 
writing  French  like  a  native,  and  whose  joy  it  was 
to  spend  so  many  of  his  days  at  a  distance  from  his 
own  land.  Gibbon  was  one  of  those  who  have  light 
ened  the  labor  of  biographers  by  giving  some  sketch 
of  his  own  life  and  mind.  There  is  some  danger  of 
partiality  in  these  accounts,  and  they  cannot  always 
be  implicitly  trusted  ;  not  from  any  disposition  to 
mislead  on  the  part  of  the  writers,  but  from  that  over- 
exaltation  with  which  poor  human  nature  contem 
plates  its  own  perfections,  and  the  Christian  tender 
ness  which  it  extends  to  its  own  sins.  Still,  it  is 
interesting  to  see  how  such  men  stood  with  them 
selves  ;  and  their  self-estimation,  whether  high  or  low, 
is  always  one  of  the  chief  elements  from  which  an 
estimate  of  character  is  made  up.  In  the  case  of 
Gibbon,  there  was  no  struggle  with  difficult  circum 
stances,  no  various  adventure,  nothing  of  that  inci 
dent  which  gives  life  to  the  story.  Though  not  rich, 
he  was  well  provided  for ;  he  had  the  full  command 
of  his  time  and  motions ;  he  had  the  most  desirable 
social  resources  at  all  times  within  his  reach.  But, 
with  that  spirit  which  seems  inseparable  from  the 
human  heart,  we  find  him  lamenting  that  he  had  not 


MEN  OF  LETTERS  AND  SCIENCE,  ART.  II.  271 

embraced  the  lucrative  profession  of  law  or  trade,  or 
even  "  the  fat  slumbers  of  the  church  ;  "  though  it  is 
not  probable  that  he  would  have  succeeded  in  either 
of  the  former  ;  and  as  to  "  fat  slumbers,"  we  imagine 
it  would  have  been  difficult  to  find  the  happy  indi 
vidual  who  enjoyed  more  of  them  in  life  than  he. 
The  health  of  the  great  historian  was  very  delicate 
in  his  childhood ;  and  he  therefore  did  not  enjoy  the 
advantage  of  much  discipline  or  instruction.  For 
tunately  for  him,  he  was  under  the  care  of  an  aunt, 
a  woman  of  good  taste  and  judgment,  who  directed 
his  inclination  for  reading,  which  was  very  strong, 
and  which  turned  itself  most  passionately  to  history, 
the  natural  resource  of  the  young  reader  in  that  day, 
when  a  swarm  of  novels  as  worthless  as  the  writers 
of  them  had  not  yet  come  up  into  every  corner  of 
people's  houses,  forming  one  of  the  chief  pests  of  the 
age.  He  read  such  works,  however,  more  thoroughly 
than  is  common  with  the  young.  For  example,  when 
engaged  with  Hovvell's  "  History  of  the  World,"  he 
studied  the  geography  of  the  Byzantine  period,  which 
was  contained  in  the  volume  that  fell  into  his  hands, 
examining  also  the  chronological  systems  which  had 
reference  to  the  subject ;  thus  unconsciously  prepar 
ing  for  the  work  which  he  was  afterwards  to  do.  He 

O 

was  hardly  fifteen  when  he  entered  the  University  of 
Oxford,  —  a  place  which  has  a  great  and  venerable 
name,  but  which,  according  to  Gibbon  and  Adam 
Smith,  offered  greater  advantages  to  wine-bibbers 
and  sinners  than  to  those  who  wanted  education, 
without  maturity  of  mind  or  force  of  character  to  work 
it  out  for  themselves.  The  result  with  him  was,  that 


272  MEN  OF  LETTERS  AND  SCIENCE,  ART.  II. 

he  had  read  three  or  four  plays  of  Terence  after 
fourteen  months'  instruction  ;  his  habits  were  irregular 
and  expensive ;  no  care  was  given  to  his  religious 
and  moral  instruction.  Under  the  influence  of  a 
friend  who  had  become  a  Catholic,  he  was  converted 
to  that  form  of  Christianity,  much  to  the  annoyance 
of  his  father,  whose  notions  on  the  subject  were 
not  the  most  enlarged,  and  who  could  devise  no  bet 
ter  way  to  reclaim  him  than  to  put  him  under  the 
influence  of  Mallet  the  poet,  whose  chief  accomplish 
ment  for  the  trust  appears  to  have  been,  that  he  had 
no  regard  for  Christianity  whatever ;  as  if  a  person 
could  be  reclaimed  from  what  was  thought  excess  on 
one  side,  by  the  winning  exhibition  of  far  coarser 
excess  on  the  other. 

Finding  that  this  beautiful  experiment  did  not  suc 
ceed,  his  father  sent  him  to  Lausanne,  where  he  was 
put  under  the  care  of  a  pious  and  sensible  Protestant 
divine,  who  soon  gained  an  influence  with  him,  and 
brought  him  back  from  the  Roman  fold,  which  was 
not  then  beset  with  converts,  as  it  is  in  the  present 
day.  The  probability  is,  that  there  was  no  depth  in 
his  feeling  on  either  side ;  and  it  may  have  been 
because  he  found  himself  so  cheered  and  welcomed 
on  these  several  occasions,  and  was  so  complimented 
for  his  religious  principles  and  feelings  when  he  was 
not  conscious  of  having  any,  that  he  afterwards  held 
Christianity  in  so  very  light  esteem.  Meantime,  he 
was  faithfully  and  diligently  employed  in  study,  pay 
ing  attention  not  only  to  French  literature,  with  which 
he  was  familiar,  but  securing  those  treasures  of  classi 
cal  learning  which  he  afterwards  used  to  so  great  ad- 


MEN  OF  LETTERS  AND  SCIENCE,  ART.  II.  273 

vantage.  The  monotony  of  his  retired  life  was  varied 
by  an  affair  of  the  heart  with  the  daughter  of  a  pastor, 
—  the  same  lady  afterwards  known  as  the  wife  of 
Neckar  and  mother  of  Madame  de  Stael.  He  re 
sorted  to  the  desperate  measure  of  throwing  himself 
on  his  knees  before  her  ;  a  most  unguarded  act,  since 
he  could  not  rise  himself  by  reason  of  his  weight,  and 
she  was  not  able,  if  disposed,  to  lift  him  ;  so  that  it 
was  not  till  the  servants  came  in  that  he  was  released 
from  his  unhappy  posture,  and  enabled  to  depart  in 
peace. 

When  he  returned  from  abroad,  he  was  kindly 
received  by  his  father,  who  had  married  a  second 
wife,  a  person  who  became  to  Gibbon  a  kind  and 
faithful  friend.  A  military  taste  infested  the  country 
at  that  time ;  and  people  the  most  unfit  for  such 
extravagances  hurried  away  from  their  harmless 
employments  to  share  the  excitement  of  war,  at  a 
comfortable  distance  from  its  dangers.  Gibbon, 
among  others,  was  glorified  with  the  rank  of  captain 
in  the  regiment  of  which  his  father  was  major ;  but 
he  found  no  enjoyment  in  what  he  called  his  military 
life  ;  he  complained  of  the  loss  of  time  which  it  oc 
casioned,  and  the  rude  companionship  to  which  it 
exposed  him :  it  was  altogether  unsuited  to  his  taste, 
which  did  not  fit  him  even  for  literary  warfare,  save 
when  there  was  no  enemy  arrayed  against  him, 
as  when  he  published  his  work  on  the  study  of 
literature,  in  which  he  vindicates,  as  he  says,  his 
favorite  ;  though  who  had  attacked  it,  or  thrown  any 
reproach  upon  it,  since  the  "  Battle  of  the  Books,"  it 
was  not  easy  to  tell.  His  essay,  being  written  in 


274  MEN  OF  LETTERS  AND  SCIENCE,  ART.  II. 

French,  was  not  read  at  all  in  England:  abroad,  it 
excited  some  attention  from  the  singularity  of  French 
correctly  written  by  a  foreigner.  He  apologized  for 
what  seemed  like  an  affectation,  by  saying  that  he 
had  hopes  of  some  diplomatic  appointment,  which  it 
might  help  to  secure  him  ;  but  it  was  probably  more 
from  display  than  any  other  reason,  that  he  under 
took  to  "  babble  the  dialect  of  France."  There  are 
very  few  who  are  acquainted  with  a  foreign  language 
who  can  resist  the  temptation  to  flourish  it  in  the 
eyes  and  ears  of  men. 

The  natural  bent  of  Gibbon's  mind  inclined  him 
strongly  to  historical  investigations ;  and,  while  en 
gaged  in  the  bloodless  campaigns  of  the  militia,  he 
had  been  revolving  various  subjects  in  his  mind,  such 
as  the  expedition  of  Charles  the  Eighth  into  Italy,  ihe 
wars  of  the  English  barons,  and  the  short  and  bril 
liant  lives  of  the  Black  Prince,  of  Sir  Philip  Sidney, 
and  Montrose.  He  had  almost  determined  to  en 
gage  in  a  biography  of  Raleigh,  and  read  with  deep 
interest  all  the  records  of  his  romantic  and  adventur 
ous  life.  But,  among  so  many  fine  subjects,  he  was 
perplexed  with  the  variety  and  number ;  and  it 
was  not  till  he  had  made  a  visit  to  Rome  that  his 
mind  took  fast  hold  of  any  one.  There,  in  October, 
1764,  as  he  sat  musing  in  the  ruins  of  the  Capitol, 
he  heard  the  barefooted  friars  singing  vespers  in  the 
Temple  of  Jupiter ;  a  sound  which,  as  one  might 
have  supposed,  brought  up  affecting  and  powerful 
associations  of  the  changes  and  revolutions  that  had 
passed  over  the  Eternal  City,  and  which  was  itself  a 
sufficient  illustration  of  the  decline  and  fall  of  the 


MEN  OF  LETTERS  AND  SCIENCE,  -ART.  II.  275 

glory  that  had  passed  away.  But  the  mere  passing 
thought  was  not  sufficient  to  inspire  him :  it  was  not 
till  he  felt  the  want  of  steady  and  systematic  employ 
ment,  to  keep  his  mind  in  tune,  and  to  prevent  the 
exertion  of  its  self-tormenting  power,  that  he  was 
able  to  nerve  himself  for  the  great  enterprise  before 
him.  He  found  that,  nothing  is  more  afflicting  than 
the  literary  leisure  which  intellectual  men  so  earnestly 
desire.  It  was  once  stated  in  a  Western  print,  that 
"  the  operation  of  the  *  Relief  laws '  had  been  found 
very  burdensome  ;  "  and  so  in  life,  relieve  a  man  from 
the  obligation  to  labor  with  his  mind  or  hands,  and 
he  can  hardly  bear  the  weight  of  existence.  If  he  is 
not  under  any  such  necessity,  he  must  supply  the 
want  of  it  for  himself;  and  this  was  done  by  Gibbon, 
with  equal  wisdom  and  success. 

His  great  work  was  commenced  in  1772,  with 
diligent  and  efficient  preparation.  He  appears  to 
have  been  aware  that  his  weak  point  would  be  the 
style  ;  and  so  anxious  was  he  to  guard  from  failure 
in  this  respect,  that  the  first  chapter  was  written 
three  times,  and  the  next  two  twice  over,  before  they 
gave  him  satisfaction.  But  even  then  he  was  too 
easily  satisfied  ;  for,  after  all,  he  never  gained  the 
power  of  melting  down  his  various  materials  into  a 
harmonious,  consistent,  and  flowing  story.  There 
are  constant  intimations  of  what  the  reader  has  no 
means  of  knowing,  awkward  and  squinting  allusions 
to  facts  and  incidents  which  are  behind  the  scenes, 
and  a  way  of  introducing  subjects  indirectly  and  by 
implication,  which,  if  produced  at  all,  should  come 
full  before  us  in  the  march  of  the  history,  each  in  its 


276  MEN  OF  LETTERS  AND  SCIENCE,  ART.  II. 

place  and  order.  Many  sentences  seem  intended 
for  riddles  to  try  the  ingenuity  of  the  reader  ;  over 
others  we  ponder  quite  as  long  as  is  worth  while  to 
make  sure  that  we  understand  them,  —  a  natural 
and  reasonable  desire,  in  which  we  are  sometimes 
disappointed  after  all.  And  yet  we  must  allow, 
that,  while  his  manner  of  writing  is  neither  easy  nor 
graceful,  it  is  more  in  keeping  with  his  subject  than 
it  would  be  with  any  other  ;  resembling  the  lordly 
march  of  a  Roman  emperor  in  his  flowing  purple, 
stately  and  majestic,  though  restricting  the  free 
movements  of  the  form.  But,  while  it  had  some 
obvious  defects,  its  merits  were  superlatively  great. 
The  two  great  historians  of  the  time  delighted  to 
honor  it,  —  Hume  with  friendly  and  sympathizing 
interest,  Robertson  Avith  gentlemanly  praise.  More 
over,  it  had  the  honor  of  being  dedicated  to  a  royal 
duke ;  and  history  has  recorded  the  exclamation  of 
distaste  which  fell  from  the  Maecenas,  when  he  saw 
the  historian  heaving  in  sight  with  "  his  great  square 
book."  Thus  heralded,  the  work  was  received  with 
great  applause.  While  Hume's  history  was  left  on 
the  bookseller's  shelves,  the  first  edition  of  this  was 
sold  almost  in  a  day  :  it  was  found  in  the  studies 
of  the  learned,  and  in  the  saloons  of  fashion.  One 
can  hardly  tell  how  it  happened,  that  such  a  work, 
with  all  its  great  merit,  should  have  gained  favor 
with  those  who  had  no  taste  for  the  delightful  narra 
tive  of  Hume.  But  the  voice  of  applause  was  not 
the  only  sound  which  the  author  heard  on  this  occa 
sion.  The  church  militant,  always  sufficiently  war 
like  for  a  religion  of  peace,  was  at  this  time  up  in 


MEN  OF  LETTERS  AND  SCIENCE,  ART.  II.  277 

arms.  Various  divines,  with  Bishop  Watson  at  their 
head,  assailed  him  for  the  unfairness  and  malignant 
spirit  of  those  parts  in  which  Christianity  is  men 
tioned,  and  confronted  him  with  charges  which  he 
was  not  able  to  disprove.  When  they  accused  him 
of  incorrect  statement  and  false  quotation,  he  was 
prepared  to  meet  them  :  his  regard  to  his  character 
as  a  historian  was  enough  to  save  him  from  those 
errors  and  crimes.  But  he  could  not  deny  that  he 
wrote  in  the  character  of  a  Christian,  with  an  evident 
design  to  throw  contempt  on  the  religion  ;  that  he 
intimated,  in  language  sharp  and  sneering,  what  he 
dared  not  openly  advance  ;  that  he  made  his  history 
a  means  of  gratifying  a  spiteful  and  resentful  feeling, 
which  he  seemed  to  want  courage  to  avow ;  and 
that,  under  some  strange  perversion  of  feeling,  he 
seemed  to  enjoy  and  defend  the  persecution  of  the 
early  martyrs,  making  light  of  their  patient  fortitude, 
and  justifying  the  oppressor's  crimes.  It  is  not  easy 
to  explain  how  this  venomous  feeling  against  the 
religion  originated  in  his  breast.  It  does  not  seem 
so  much  like  a  doubt  of  its  truth  and  divinity,  as  an 
aversion  to  the  name.  But  he  finds  his  retribution 
now :  his  credit  as  a  historian  is  far  lower  than  if  he 
had  come  out  with  an  open  declaration  of  his  un 
belief ;  and,  instead  of  exciting  admiration  by  his 
vast  power  of  irony,  he  gives  the  impression  of 
something  unsound  in  his  heart. 

In  the  two  years  between  the  publication  of  the 

first  and  the  commencement  of  the  second  volume, 

he  employed  himself  in  his  attendance  as  a  member 

of  parliament,   and   in   a  visit   to   his   friends,    the 

24 


278  MEN  OF  LETTERS  AND  SCIENCE,  ART.  II. 

Neckars,  in  Paris,  where  his  familiarity  with  the 
French  language  made  him  generally  welcome. 
Hume,  who  was  a  favorite  there,  was  laughed  at  for 
his  ignorance  of  French,  and  his  awkward  simplicity 
of  manners.  Gibbon  appears  to  have  been  more 
respected  than  beloved.  In  parliament,  he  gained 
credit  by  drawing  up  a  memorial  in  defence  of  the 
British  government  against  the  French  claims,  in 
1778.  For  this  he  was  rewarded  with  the  sinecure 
place  of  Lord  of  Trade,  which  he  held  till  the  board 
was  abolished,  in  1784,  when,  finding  his  income 
unequal  to  the  expense  of  living  in  London,  he 
determined  to  spend  the  rest  of  his  days  at  Lau 
sanne.  He  longed  to  take  a  part  in  the  debates  of 
parliament ;  but,  as  often  as  he  thought  of  the  horrors 
of  a  failure,  he  shrank  back  with  dismay.  He  was 
not  aware  how  many  empty  vessels  in  all  public 
bodies  make  the  welkin  ring  with  their  abundance 
and  endlessness  of  sound.  Extemporaneous  speak 
ing  in  its  ordinary  forms  is  easily  acquired,  —  too 
easily,  indeed,  for  the  comfort  and  respectability  of 
our  halls  of  state.  Even  now  the  silent  members 
are  the  chief  ornaments  of  such  places,  and  the 
country  would  not  lament  if  a  prevailing  lockjaw 
should  suppress  the  eloquence  of  many  who  might 
us  well  be  still. 

After  the  completion  of  his  second  and  third  vol 
umes,  which,  as  he  was  well  aware,  were  not  re 
ceived  as  warmly  as  the  first,  —  not,  however,  on 
account  of  the  matter  or  style,  but  simply  because 
the  great  majority  of  readers  have  no  delight  in 
books  that  are  long,  —  he  was  in  doubt  whether  to 


MEN  OF  LETTERS  AND  SCIENCE,  ART.  II.  279 

proceed,  or  to  close  the  history  with  the  fall  of  the 
Western  Empire.  But  the  same  necessity  which 
urged  him  to  begin  required  him  to  persevere :  in 
deed,  it  was  more  difficult,  when  once  accustomed 
to  the  routine,  to  sink  back  into  listless  repose.  He 
therefore  kept  on,  and  nearly  completed  his  fourth 
volume  before  leaving  England,  after  narrowly  escap 
ing  a  controversy  with  Dr.  Priestley,  to  which  he 
was  earnestly  invited  by  that  excellent  but  somewhat 
warlike  divine.  He  was  prepared  to  hear  his  treat 
ment  of  Christianity  condemned,  and  was  not  sur 
prised  when  the  censure  came,  though  rather  stunned 
by  its  depth  and  loudness ;  but  he  does  not  seem  to 
have  been  in  the  least  aware  that  the  indecency  of 
his  notes  would  be  matter  of  reproach.  One  can 
hardly  conceive  what  his  habits  of  thought  must  have 
been,  to  see  nothing  objectionable  in  his  account  of 
Theodora,  for  example.  Even  when  Person  thun 
dered  out  his  anathema,  Gibbon  seemed  more  dis 
posed  to  smile  at  such  a  person  officiating  in  the 
capacity  of  moralist,  than  to  resent,  or  even  to  feel, 
the  reproach.  The  only  excuse  he  thinks  it  neces 
sary  to  make  is,  that  the  narrative  is  what  it  should 
be,  and  only  the  notes  are  licentious ;  whereas  it  is 
evident,  that  this  very  consciousness,  and  the  thin  veil 
of  another  language,  only  serve  to  excite  attention, 
which  the  reader  without  them  never  would  have 
thought  of  giving.  It  implies  an  enlightened  know 
ledge  of  human  nature,  like  that  of  one  who  should 
inclose  what  he  wished  to  conceal  in  a  thin  covering, 
writing  on  it  a  request  to  the  public  that  no  one 
would  look  in. 


280  MEN  OF  LETTERS  AND  SCIENCE,  ART.  II. 

The  history  was  completed  in  1787 ;  and  most 
readers  are  familiar  with  the  striking  description  of 
his  feelings,  as  he  wrote  the  closing  words  in  a  sum 
mer-house  in  his  garden,  at  the  hour  of  midnight, 
when  the  air  was  mild,  the  sky  serene,  and  the  moon 
light  sweetly  reflected  from  the  waters.  His  first 
thought  was  that  of  joy  at  recovering  his  freedom, 
and  perhaps  establishing  his  fame.  But,  on  reflec 
tion,  he  felt  that  he  had  parted  with  an  old  and 
agreeable  companion,  which  had  been  a  source  of 
high  and  intellectual  interest  for  years ;  and  that, 
however  the  history  might  endure,  the  days  of  the 
writer  were  wasting  to  their  close.  The  question  of 
the  duration  of  the  history  was  soon  decided.  Every 
intelligent  reader  felt  that  only  a  most  uncommon 
sagacity  could  have  seen  through  the  confusion  of 
the  chaotic  variety  of  his  materials,  estimating  their 
claims  and  merits,  and  their  often  obscure  relations 
with  each  other.  So  far  from  complaining  of  any 
want  of  clearness  in  the  narrative,  the  wonder  is,  that 
he  should  ever  have  been  able  to  subdue  them  into 
tolerable  harmony  and  order.  He  seems  never  to 
have  been  weary  of  searching  into  the  endless  range 
of  subjects  presented,  balancing  authorities  and  de 
termining  their  accuracy  with  a  precision  and  faith 
fulness  which  few  will  venture  to  impeach.  Guizot, 
himself  a  great  authority,  admires  this  power  of  judi 
cious  discrimination  ;  and  every  one  is  struck  with 
his  watchful  penetration,  his  painstaking  industry, 
and  the  rich  abundance  of  learning  sprinkled  over 
the  work  almost  to  profusion.  In  these  respects,  he 
is  as  much  superior  to  Hume  as  that  great  historian 


MEN  OF  LETTERS  AND  SCIENCE,  ART.  II.  281 

excelled  him  in  the  easy  grace  with  which  he  tells 
his  story ;  and  the  result  is,  that,  while  Hume  is  no 
authority,  the  verdict  of  Gibbon  is  almost  decisive  in 
every  historical  question  which  he  ever  undertook  to 
explore. 

Though  the  cold  sarcasm  which  runs  through 
Gibbon's  history  gives  an  unpleasant  impression  of 
the  man,  he  appears  to  have  been  kind  and  affection 
ate  in  his  intercourse  with  his  friends,  steady  and 
faithful  in  his  attachments,  and  manly  and  honorable 
in  all  the  relations  of  life.  No  human  being  could 
well  be  less  attractive  in  the  outward  man.  His 
head  enormously  large,  with  no  elevation  of  feature, 
his  mouth  a  round  orifice  directly  in  the  centre ;  his 
form  heavy  and  unmanageable,  partly  with  corpu 
lence,  but  still  more  by  a  fearful  rupture,  descending 
to  his  knees,  but  which  he  seemed  unconscious  that 
any  one  ever  saw,  and  which  he  never  mentioned 
either  to  his  physician  or  his  attendant  till  it  had 
brought  him  nearly  to  the  grave.  With  all  these 
impediments  to  personal  display,  he  appears  to  have 
taken  pains  and  pride  in  dress.  Colman  describes 
him  in  company,  with  a  suit  of  flowered  velvet, 
together  with  a  bag  and  sword,  while  Dr.  Johnson 
sat  opposite  in  his  coarse  black  stockings  and  raiment 
of  rusty  brown.  This,  however,  may  have  been 
nothing  more  than  the  full  dress  of  gentlemen,  while 
the  foppery  of  the  great  moralist  was  excessive  on 
the  opposite  side.  His  conversation  is  said  to  have 
been  of  a  very  high  order,  though  somewhat  formal 
and  labored  ;  his  remarks  appeared  as  if  studied, 
and  even  his  wit  had  the  air  of  careful  preparation ; 

24* 


282  MEN  OF  LETTERS  AND  SCIENCE,  ART.  II. 

but  he  was  ready  in  argument,  full  of  information, 
and  pleasant  in  manner,  though  not  exempt  from 
affectation.  He  had  the  oppressive  consciousness  of 
a  great  reputation  to  sustain,  which  is  never  favor 
able  to  the  true  social  manner,  nor  indeed  to  the  best 
display  of  the  powers.  Madame  du  Deffand  be 
lieved  him  to  be  very  learned,  but  was  not  sure  that 
he  was  very  clever ;  while  Suard  speaks  of  his  con 
versation  as  full  and  animated.  On  the  whole,  he 
appears  to  have  borne  in  social  life  and  conversation 
a  part  not  unequal  to  his  literary  name. 

It  is  honorable  to  Gibbon  that  he  was  able  to 
secure  and  retain  so  many  friends,  among  whom 
the  most  confidential  was  Lord  Sheffield,  a  man  of 
sense  and  honor,  whose  infirmity  was,  that  he  could 
not  refrain  from  writing  pamphlets  which  Lord 
Brougham  pronounces  unreadably  dry.  When  in 
England,  Gibbon  was  domesticated  in  his  house ; 
and  he  with  his  family  made  visits  to  the  historian  at 
Lausanne.  When  his  lordship  suffered  under  the 
loss  of  his  wife,  the  heaviest  of  domestic  sorrows,  he 
at  once,  though  disabled  by  infirmity,  set  out  on  a 
long,  painful,  and  dangerous  journey,  to  comfort  his 
mourning  friend.  He  was  not  at  the  time  aware 
that  he  was  returning  to  die  in  his  native  land.  But, 
soon  after  his  return,  he  found  it  necessary  to  consult 
physicians,  who  relieved  him  for  the  time  by  a  sur 
gical  operation  ;  but  the  difficulty  returned,  and  a 
second  operation  was  more  painful  and  less  bene 
ficial  than  the  first.  The  evening  before  he  died,  he 
was  conversing  with  his  friends  about  the  probable 
duration  of  his  life,  which  he  fixed  at  ten,  and  possi- 


MEN  OF  LETTERS  AND  SCIENCE,  ART.  II.  283 

bly  twenty,  years.  That  night  he  was  taken  more  ill, 
and  shortly  after  noon  on  the  next  day  he  expired. 

The  transition  from  Gibbon  to  Sir  Joseph  Banks 
bears  some  resemblance  to  a  decline  and  fall ;  arid 
yet  the  latter  was  useful  and  distinguished  in  his  day 
and  generation,  though  his  renown  will  not  be  likely 
to  sail  far  beyond  it.  Very  great  credit  is  due  to 
those  who,  having  the  means  of  living  in  luxury  and 
self-indulgence,  rise  above  the  temptations  of  their 
position,  and  feel  so  strong  a  determination  toward 
the  walks  of  science,  that  they  cannot  be  content  to 
spend  life  in  lazy  epicureanism,  or  an  empty  fashion 
able  display.  Even  if  they  do  not  make  any  great 
discoveries,  nor  extend  the  boundaries  of  science, 
themselves,  their  aid  and  influence  are  of  service  to 
those  who  do  ;  and,  under  their  circumstances,  to 
possess  such  a  taste  implies  a  certain  degree  of 
superiority,  which  entitles  them  to  a  place  in  the  gen 
eral  estimation  far  higher  than  that  of  intelligent  and 
cultivated  persons  who  live  entirely  for  themselves. 
He  certainly  is  no  common  man  who  loves  know 
ledge  for  its  own  sake,  looking  to  no  other  recom 
pense  than  the  enjoyment  of  the  pursuit,  delighting 
in  his  own  intimacy  with  nature,  and  contentedly 
leaving  it  to  others  to  write  their  names  where  they 
will  shine  in  the  eyes  of  men. 

There  is  not  much  in  Sir  Joseph  Banks  to  sug 
gest  the  idea  of  D'Alembert,  who  comes  next  in 
succession  ;  nor  did  their  provinces  of  scientific  action 
lie,  as  Mrs.  Malaprop  says,  contiguous  to  each  other. 
But  Lord  Brougham  appears  to  have  taken  the  lat 
ter  as  an  example  of  the  peace  of  mind,  and  repose 


284  MEN  OF  LETTERS  AND  SCIENCE,  ART.  II. 

of  the  passions,  which  a  life  devoted  to  the  severer 
sciences  tends,  more  than  any  other,  to  secure. 
Adam  Smith  has  pointed  out  their  happy  exemption 
from  those  disturbing  forces  which  perpetually  affect 
the  serenity  of  artists  and  literary  men,  and,  indeed, 
of  all  who  are  dependent  on  the  public  taste  either 
for  subsistence  or  applause.  The  difficulties  which 
the  mathematician  contends  with  are  of  a  kind 
which  it  is  inspiring  to  encounter,  and  glorious  to 
overcome ;  he  stands  in  calm  reliance  on  his  own 
powers  ;  no  doubt  or  self-distrust  oppresses  him  ; 
fully  persuaded  that  his  results  are  established  by 
arguments  that  cannot  be  shaken,  he  knows  that  no 
light  suggestion,  no  wanton  ridicule,  and  not  even 
the  most  bitter  resistance,  can  prevent  their  making 
their  way ;  and  he  submits  them  with  comparative 
unconcern  to  the  judgment  of  mankind.  His  pur 
suits  also  furnish  a  subject  of  never-failing  interest, 
which  always  engages  his  thoughts,  but  is  never 
painfully  exciting ;  and,  as  vacancy  of  mind  occa 
sions  much  of  the  restless  irritability  of  life,  the 
mathematician  is  thus  spared  the  vexation  of  spirit 
which  troubles  other  men.  In  days  of  heaviness  and 
sorrow,  he  can  more  readily  turn  from  his  grief  in 
this  peaceful  direction  than  in  any  other  ;  so  that 
whoever  gives  himself  in  good  faith  to  these  studies 
has  certainly  chosen  a  good  part,  so  far  as  happiness 
is  concerned.  But  there  is  no  Arcadia  in  this  lower 
world.  Men  of  science,  like  the  men  of  Loo  Choo, 
will  be  found,  if  examined  nearly,  to  have  their  jeal 
ousies  and  wars ;  their  swords  are  not  yet  beaten 
into  ploughshares ;  for  some  sort  of  controversy  with 


MEN  OF  LETTERS  AND  SCIENCE,  ART.  II.  285 

pens  or  swords  seems  inseparable  from  human  na 
ture.  Even  the  religious  penitent,  as  soon  as  he  has 
professed  himself  a  follower  of  the  Prince  of  Peace, 
will  fasten  tooth  and  nail  upon  his  neighbor  for  be 
lieving  a  little  more  or  less  than  he. 

D'Alembert  made  his  first  appearance  in  the  world 
as  a  foundling,  exposed  by  his  mother  in  a  winter 
night,  but  rescued,  when  almost  dead,  by  the  huma 
nity  of  strangers.  His  father  was  M.  Destouches,  a 
poet  and  commissary  of  artillery,  who  soon  came 
forward,  and  made  provision  for  his  support.  His 
mother  was  Madame  de  Tencin,  so  well  known  to 
the  readers  of  Marmontel,  who  represents  her  as  the 
witty  and  accomplished  centre  of  a  brilliant  circle. 
When  he  afterwards  became  distinguished,  she  was 
desirous  to  have  him  come  and  live  with  her,  and  be 
acknowledged  as  her  son,  which  would  not  have 
injured  her  reputation  in  the  Paris  of  that  day.  But 
he  declined  the  honor,  having  already  had  enough 
of  her  maternal  affection  ;  and  for  forty  years  he  lived 
in  the  cottage  of  the  poor  woman  who  had  rescued 
him  from  the  fate  which  his  mother's  love  assigned 

o 

him.  When  his  health  compelled  him  to  leave  those 
humble  lodgings,  he  continued  to  supply  her  wants 
from  his  own  narrow  income  till  she  died.  His 
whole  conduct  in  that  relation  was  humane,  affec 
tionate,  and  honorable  in  the  highest  degree. 

At  the  age  of  twelve,  he  was  sent  to  a  Jansenist 
college,  where  his  early  promise  was  discovered,  and 
attempts  were  made  to  enlist  his  feelings  in  the  feud 
between  his  instructors  and  the  Jesuits.  They  hoped, 
doubtless,  that  another  Pascal  would  rise  up  to  throw 


286  MEN  OF  LETTERS  AND  SCIENCE,  ART.  II. 


the  great  weight  of  his  character  and  talents  on  their 
side.  But  D'Alembert,  though  he  went  so  far  as  to 
write  a  commentary  on  the  Epistle  to  the  Romans, 
was  too  much  engaged  by  what  the  pious  fathers 
called,  in  Fenelon's  case,  "  the  devilish  attractions 
of  geometry."  When  he  left  them,  he  devoted  him 
self  entirely  to  those  studies.  In  order  to  increase 
his  small  income,  he  made  some  attempts  to  study  a 
profession ;  but,  in  whatever  direction  he  forced  his 
mind,  it  was  always  springing  back,  like  the  bended 
bow,  to  his  favorite  pursuits.  In  this  he  was  not 
encouraged  certainly  by  his  good  old  nurse,  who 
used  to  say  to  him  in  sorrow,  "  Oh  !  you  will  never 
be  any  thing  more  than  a  philosopher.  And  what  is 
a  philosopher  ?  —  a  foolish  body,  who  wearies  his 
life  out  to  be  talked  of  after  he  is  dead."  But  he 
found  his  studies  a  great  source  of  satisfaction,  apart 
from  any  such  vision  of  posthumous  renown.  He 
awoke,  he  says,  every  morning,  with  a  feeling  of 
gladness  in  his  heart,  as  he  thought  of  the  investiga 
tion  in  which  he  was  employed  the  day  before,  and 
which  he  was  again  to  pursue.  In  the  evening,  he 
sometimes  went  to  the  theatre  ;  but,  when  there,  what 
he  enjoyed  most  was  thinking  of  the  next  day's  la 
bors.  Though  he  was  a  philosopher,  without  ques 
tion,  according  to  the  original  sense  of  the  word, 
there  was  nothing  which  gave  him  less  concern  than 
the  manner  in  which  he  should  be  talked  of,  either 
living  or  dead. 

Talked  of,  however,  he  was  destined  to  be.  A 
paper  which  he  offered  to  the  Academy  of  Sciences 
attracted  their  favorable  attention;  and,  in  1741,  he 


MEN  OF  LETTERS  AND  SCIENCE,  ART.  II.  287 

was  admitted  a  member,  at  the  age  of  twenty-four, 
younger  than  any  other  who  had  received  that  honor, 
except  the  celebrated  Clairaut.      Two  years  after, 
D'Alembert  justified  this  high   compliment  by  his 
"  Traite  de  Dynamique,"  which  at  once  established 
his  reputation.     For  some  years  he  was  engaged  in 
following   out   his   principles   in   their   various   and 
extensive  applications,  till,  in  1752,  he  published  an 
essay  on  a  new  theory  of  the  resistance   of  fluids, 
which  was  the  subject  that  principally  engaged  his 
attention  for  many  years.      Meantime,   by  way  of 
interlude,  he  had  submitted  a  memoir  on  the  general 
theory  of  the   winds,   which  was   crowned   by  the 
Royal  Academy  of  Berlin.     As  his  fame  extended, 
his  enjoyment  of  life  was  less  secure ;  this  being  one 
of  the  severe  penalties  which  men  pay  for  renown. 
He  became  somewhat  jealous  of  every  invasion  of 
his  rights  and  honors,  to  which  he  had  been  rather 
indifferent  before.       Lord  Brougham  accounts   for 
these  feelings,  which  were  not  according  to  his  habits 
or  his  nature,  by  ascribing  them  to  the  influence  of 
the  literary  factions  and  social  parties  with  which  he 
had  become  connected,  as  an  Encyclopedist,  with 
Diderot,  Holbach,  and  Voltaire,  to  whom  repose  of 
spirit  was  as  much  unknown  as  peace  to  the  wicked ; 
but  a  more  general  explanation  of  it  may  be  found 
in  the  general  tendencies  of  human  nature.    Men  be 
come  avaricious  of  praise  as  readily  as  of  money ;  and 
as  one  who  comes  across  our  promising  speculation 
in  business  is  regarded  with  feelings  not  entirely  be 
nignant,  our  charities  wax  cold  toward  those  who  in 
terfere  with  the  ingathering  of  our  harvest  of  applause. 


288  MEN  OF  LETTERS  AND  SCIENCE,  ART.  II. 

It  would  have  been  well  for  D'Alembert,  if  nothing 
had  ever  drawn  him  out  from  the  circle  in  which  he 
moved  in  his  earlier  days  :  for,  up  to  the  age  of  thirty- 
five,  his  wants  were  few,  his  enjoyments  simple,  his 
spirit  unruffled,  and  his  renown  as  a  man  of  science 
fast  extending.  But,  when  the  famous  "  Encyclo 
paedia "  was  established,  he  became  joint-editor  with 
Diderot,  and  supplied  many  of  the  most  striking 
portions.  His  preliminary  discourse  on  the  distribu 
tion  and  progress  of  the  sciences  was  greatly  admired 
in  its  time  ;  but  Lord  Brougham  regards  it  with 
little  favor.  Still,  the  severity  of  his  censure  is  rather 
disarmed  by  the  admission,  that  Bacon  had  fallen 
into  the  same  errors  before.  When  the  work  to 
which  this  discourse  was  an  introduction  appeared, 
the  church  and  the  government  were  filled  with  mu 
tual  alarm.  The  great  body  of  literary  men  grew 
jealous  of  those  who  thus  threatened  to  eclipse  them  ; 
the  fashionable  circles,  which  exert  so  much  influence 
in  Paris,  took  sides  in  the  matter  ;  and  it  seemed  as 
if  ^Eolus  had  let  loose  the  winds  to  fan  the  flame 
which  threatened  to  consume  the  wights  whose  free 
dom  of  speech,  or  rather  whose  known  opinions,  had 
kindled  it.  There  are  some  who  melt  away  under 
the  influence  of  this  kind  of  heat;  others,  on  the 
contrary,  are  hardened  into  petrifactions  ;  but,  as 
D'Alembert  was  not  of  this  hardy  sort,  and  was 
disgusted  in  the  extreme  with  the  new  state  of  things, 
he  took  occasion,  when  the  government  prohibited 
the  work  in  France,  to  withdraw  from  the  editorial 
charge  ;  leaving  it  in  the  hands  of  Diderot,  who  better 
loved  the  sweet  music  of  angry  speech,  and  was 


MEN  OF  LETTERS  AND  SCIENCE,  ART.   II.  289 

perfectly  willing  to  finish  his  rough  journey  alone. 
Having  his  attention  thus  directed  to  literature, 
D'Alembert  wrote  several  works  on  various  sub 
jects,  one  of  which,  "  On  the  Intercourse  of  Literary 
Men  with  the  Great,"  had  the  effect  to  change  the 
style  in  which  works  were  dedicated,  which,  both  in 
France  and  England,  till  a  late  period,  instead  of 
being  offered  with  manly  independence,  were  sub 
mitted  in  the  tone  in  wrhich  the  veteran  beggar 
acknowledges  the  donation  of  sixpence,  —  praying 
immortal  blessings  upon  the  Samaritan's  head. 

In  1752,  the  king  of  Prussia  invited  him  to  reside 
in  Berlin,  with  liberal  appointments  and  a  salary  of 
five  hundred  pounds  a  year  ;  which  offer  D'Alembert 
declined,  though  his  income  was  but  about  seventy 
pounds.  His  determination  was  to  keep  his  indepen 
dence  and  freedom,  and  his  moderation  was  worthy  of 
praise  ;  though  it  should  be  staled  that  Frederic's 
promises  to  pay  were  at  a  considerable  discount, 
particularly  with  those  victims  who  had  once  tasted 
his  bounty,  and  could  not  be  hired  to  expose  them 
selves  to  the  same  blessing  again.  He  received, 
some  years  after,  a  more  tempting  proposal  from 
Catherine  of  Russia,  to  undertake  the  education  of 
her  son,  with  a  salary  of  four  thousand  pounds.  The 
profligate  old  woman  was  willing  to  pay  liberally  for 
the  instruction  of  her  boy.  But,  whether  he  foresaw 
the  impediments  in  the  way  of  educating  a  young 
emperor  without  brains,  where  the  teacher  might  be 
expected  to  do  what  nature  had  found  beyond  her, 
or  whether  he  was  too  much  attached  to  the  social 
atmosphere  of  Paris  to  be  willing  on  any  terms  to 
23 


290  MEN  OF  LETTERS  AND  SCIENCE,  ART.  II. 

leave  it,  he  wisely  determined  to  be  his  own  master ; 
that  service,  unlike  the  other,  being  one  which  he 
could  renounce  at  will. 

His  attachment  to  Mademoiselle  de  1'Espinasse  is 
a  curious  passage  in  his  history.  She  was  a  young 
person  of  romantic  character  and  brilliant  talents, 
who  lived  with  Madame  du  Deffand,  as  a  compan 
ion,  with  a  salary  of  next  to  nothing  a  year  ;  in 
consideration  of  which,  she  was  to  bear  the  intoler 
able  temper  of  her  patroness,  and  to  read  her  to 
sleep  in  the  morning ;  for  she  rose  when  the  sun  set, 
and  went  to  sleep  when  he  rose,  so  that  the  two 
luminaries  were  seldom  seen  above  the  horizon  to 
gether.  The  attendant  found  but  one  comfort  in  her 
life,  which  was  to  receive  D'Alembert  and  one  or 
two  other  friends,  before  the  old  lady  appeared  in  the 
eastern  sky.  Unhappily  the  patroness  discovered  the 
proceeding,  and,  falling  into  a  passion  with  her  morn 
ing  star,  dismissed  it  from  her  heaven.  The  young 
lady's  friends  procured  her  a  residence  and  a  small 
pension  ;  and,  D'Alembert  having  been  taken  dan 
gerously  sick,  she  nursed  him  with  the  greatest  kind 
ness  and  care.  As  they  wTere  thus  thrown  together, 
he  continued  to  reside  with  her  through  the  twelve 
remaining  years  of  her  life.  She,  being  susceptible  in 
her  disposition,  was  meantime  sending  her  affections 
abroad :  she  forced  them,  so  it  would  seem,  at  the 
same  time  on  Guibert,  a  French  officer,  and  Mora,  a 
young  Spanish  grandee.  But  though  she  had  thus 
two,  if  not  three,  strings  to  her  bow,  she  was  put 
out  of  tune  by  the  failure  of  one ;  for,  on  the  death 
of  Mora,  she  took  his  loss  so  much  to  heart  that 


MEN  OF  LETTERS  AND  SCIENCE,  ART.  II.  291 

she  began  to  decline,  and  two  years  after  she  died. 
Now,  D'Alembert  had  gone  regularly  every  morning 
to  the  post-office  to  get  her  letters  from  the  young 
Spaniard.  At  her  instigation,  he  had  obtained  from  a 
celebrated  French  physician  a  medical  opinion  that 
the  air  of  Paris  was  good  for  him,  in  order  that  his 
relations  might  consent  to  his  return  to  France,  from 
which  they  had  recalled  him ;  but,  after  her  decease, 
we  find  him  bitterly  complaining  of  his  discovering 
that  her  affections  were  not  his  own,  and  asking, 
with  some  simplicity,  what  security  he  could  have 
for  believing  that  she  had  ever  loved  him.  His  un 
certainty  was  a  distress,  no  doubt ;  but  it  resembled 
that  of  another  unfortunate  hypochondriac,  who, 
waking  one  morning  with  a  grievous  colic,  said  that 
"  it  was  just  as  like  as  not  that  he  had  had  it  all 
night,"  a  reflection  which  added  tenfold  to  the  bitter 
ness  of  his  woe. 

Lord  Brougham  so  much  laments  the  desertion  of 
D'Alembert  from  science,  that  he  is  not  inclined  to 
allow  him  much  merit  in  his  literary  career.  He 
says  that  he  came  to  it  without  the  right  preparation  ; 
not  rich  in  classical  attainments,  nor  indeed  in  any 
kind  of  learning ;  unacquainted  with  the  principles 
of  criticism,  and  deficient  also  in  correctness  and 
simplicity  of  taste.  But  his  style  was  eminently 
simple  ;  and,  as  the  style  is  an  expression  of  the 
character  of  the  mind,  it  can  hardly  be  that  he  was 
viciously  defective  in  those  respects,  though  he  may 
have  been  misled  by  partiality  or  prejudice  in  some 
of  his  literary  opinions.  But  the  great  difficulty  with 
him  was  his  excessive  admiration  of  Voltaire  ;  a  man 


292  MEN  OF  LETTERS  AND  SCIENCE,  ART.  II. 

so  distinguished  by  his  variety  of  talent,  that  it  was 
impossible  he  should  excel  in  all.  It  was  bad 
enough  in  him  to  place  Corneille  and  Racine  far 
below  the  footstool  of  Voltaire ;  but  so  far  did  he 
carry  his  reverence,  that  he  appears  to  have  been 
more  delighted  with  Voltaire's  approbation  of  his 
mathematical  works  than  that  of  seven  men  who 
were  able  to  understand  them.  Such  deference  to 
such  a  genius  was  very  apt  to  betray. 

In  private  life,  D'Alembert  appears  to  have  been 
always  amiable,  and  everywhere  welcome.  He 
came  into  society  with  the  unconscious  freedom  of  a 
child  ;  never  oppressed  by  the  weight  of  his  reputa 
tion,  not  concerned  what  impression  he  made,  but 
always  speaking  from  the  overflow  of  his  mind  and 
the  dictation  of  his  heart.  There  never  was  a  trace 
of  reserve,  suspicion,  or  pride  about  him  :  sometimes 
he  was  gently  satirical,  but  never  bitter.  He  entered 
with  all  his  heart  into  the  enjoyment  of  the  hour ; 
and,  like  every  such  person,  exerted  a  sunny  in 
fluence  round  him,  keeping  all  in  good-humor  with 
him  and  with  themselves.  But  he  had  other  recom 
mendations  of  a  higher  order.  As  soon  as  his  in 
come  rose  above  poverty,  half  of  it  was  spent  in  acts 
of  charity  and  kindness ;  and  in  every  way  in  his 
power  he  served  those  who  needed  or  deserved  his 
aid.  To  aristocratic  influence  he  did  not  pay  much 
regard,  but  merit  Avas  sure  of  his  respect.  Thus, 
the  celebrated  Laplace,  when  a  young  man,  came  to 
Paris,  bringing  letters  to  him  from  divers  magnates 
in  his  native  city.  Finding  that  these  were  not  at 
tended  to,  the  young  student  wrote  him  a  letter  on 


MEN  OF  LETTERS  AND  SCIENCE,  ART.  II.  293 

the  principles  of  mechanics,  which  received  imme 
diate  attention,  and  in  the  course  of  the  week  ob 
tained  for  him  a  professorship  in  the  military  school. 

This  great  man  died  at  the  age  of  sixty-seven ; 
and  after  his  death  it  was  discovered  that  his  sympa 
thies  on  the  subject  of  religion  had  taken  the  side  of 
unbelievers.  While  he  lived,  he  had  avoided  the 
subject,  and  never  wrote  any  thing  in  reference  to  it 
which  could  give  offence  or  pain ;  but,  in  communi 
cating  with  Frederic  and  Voltaire,  their  selfish  and 
sneering  natures  appear  to  have  overborne  the  mo 
deration  and  kindness  of  his  own.  As  for  Frederic, 
it  is  some  comfort  to  think  that  he  was  not  a  Chris 
tian,  since  Christianity  cannot  be  made  responsible 
for  the  stony  hardness  of  his  heart ;  and  even  Vol 
taire,  though  there  was  much  of  a  redeeming  nature 
about  him,  was  a  sort  of  person  whom  Christianity 
might  be  well  content  to  disown.  But  it  is  unfortu 
nate  that  D'Alembert,  with  his  kind  heart  and  genial 
nature,  should  have  mistaken  the  Christianity  of 
Christians  for  that  of  the  gospel,  and  thus  have 
rejected  a  religion  which  he  was  never  fortunate 
enough  to  know.  And  yet,  as  Lord  Brougham  sug 
gests,  there  is  great  excuse  for  those  who  formed 
their  impressions  of  the  religion  of  Jesus  from  what 
they  saw  in  the  church  ;  it  was  no  wonder  that  their 
minds  and  hearts  rose  up  against  it :  but,  had  they 
endeavored  to  inform  themselves  on  the  subject,  they 
would  have  seen  that  the  sentence  which  the  gospel 
pronounced  against  it  was  even  severer  than  theirs. 

We  need  say  no  more  of  these  portraits,  which 
are  painted  with  a  bold  and  confident,  but  of  course 
25* 


294  MEN  OF  LETTERS  AND  SCIENCE,  ART.  II. 

an  able  hand.  They  are  instructive  and  entertaining ; 
and  the  sooner  the  rest  follow,  the  more  welcome 
they  will  be.  Considering  his  lordship's  mathematical 
tastes  and  talent,  it  might  have  been  well  to  have 
devoted  himself  exclusively  to  men  of  science ;  yet 
few  will  be  inclined  to  complain  that  his  range  was 
more  extended. 


295 


A  D  D  I  S  0  N. 


The  Life  of  Joseph.  Addison.      By  LUCY  AIKIN.     Philadelphia : 
Carey  and  Hart,  1846  ;  12mo,  pp.  279. 

WE  had  not  ventured  to  promise  ourselves  an  op 
portunity  of  bringing  this  great  man  in  review  before 
us ;  and  we  are  not  without  misgivings  lest  the 
world,  which,  like  poor  Lear,  is  apt  to  be  somewhat 
disordered  in  mind,  should  ask,  as  he  did,  which  is 
the  justice  and  which  the  culprit.  But  we  are  grate 
ful  to  Miss  Aikin  for  writing  this  unpretending  life 
of  Addison,  and,  still  more  so,  for  doing  it  in  her 
quiet  and  sensible  manner ;  contenting  herself  with 
a  likeness,  and  not  trying  to  make  it  fascinating 
with  paint  and  gilding,  after  the  fashion  of  the  pres 
ent  day.  Indeed,  there  is  hardly  a  subject  in  the 
whole  range  of  literature,  where  affectation  and  dis 
play  would  be  more  out  of  place.  Those  attractive 
arts  which  snatch  at  impossible  graces,  sacrificing 
truth  to  effect,  and  simple  nature  to  quick  impression, 
would  be  reproved  to  silence,  if  not  to  shame,  by  the 
presence  of  this  great  master.  The  very  thought  of 
such  treatment  is  enough  to  make  one  wish  he  were 
on  earth  again,  exerting  the  authority  which  a  power 
ful,  refined,  and  graceful  genius  like  his  would  have, 


296  ADDISON. 

wherever  it  existed.  It  would  be  a  sport  to  see  how 
many  popular  authors,  who  are  read  and  admired 
by  thousands  now,  would,  like  the  swine  in  Scrip 
ture,  which  they  resemble  in  coarseness  and  the  spirit 
that  has  entered  into  them,  soon  be  seen  running 
violently  down  a  steep  place  to  perish  in  the  sea  of 
oblivion,  —  those  blessed  waters  Avhich,  it  is  to  be 
hoped,  will  never  dry  away. 

There  is  something  in  the  literary  fame  of  this 
writer  which  it  is  always  refreshing  to  remember. 
Like  the  Parthenon,  it  retains  its  charm,  though  for 
ages  unvisited  by  the  traveller,  laid  waste  by  the 
barbarian,  and  weather-stained  by  time  ;  so  far  trans 
cending  the  adventurous  antics  of  modern  art,  that, 
as  long  as  a  fragment  of  pillar  or  peristyle  remains, 
it  will  be  impossible  to  doubt  the  perfection  of  that 
which  the  world  of  taste  adores.  Writing  always 
from  a  full  mind,  and  never  for  the  sake  of  writing, 
he  is  always  rich  to  overflowing  in  his  resources ; 
and,  however  excellent  the  work  may  be,  gives  the 
impression  that  he  is  able  to  produce  something 
better.  His  memory  was  full  of  information ;  all 
the  particulars  of  which  had  found  their  places  in  his 
mind  in  harmony  and  order,  so  that  classical  allu 
sions  and  suggestions  from  what  he  had  seen  and 
read  presented  themselves  when  they  were  wanted, 
giving  him  power  to  select  the  best.  Like  most 
other  calm  and  quiet  observers  of  life,  he  found  in 
his  own  experience  incidents  and  intimations  which, 
playfully  introduced,  gave  spirit  and  life  to  his  writ 
ings.  His  movements  were  so  easy  and  graceful, 
that  no  one  thought  of  the  hard  study  and  self-dis- 


ADDISON.  297 

cipline  by  which  alone  he  could  have  gained  so  com 
plete  a  mastery  of  his  own  powers.  Every  thing 
seemed  to  be  thrown  off  without  an  effort,  and  so 
indeed  it  was ;  the  effort  came  earlier  in  the  history 
of  his  mind  ;  and  certain  it  is,  that,  without  long  and 
patient  thought,  such  as  requires  great  concentration 
of  the  intellectual  powers,  he  never  could  have  ac 
quired  a  logical  exactness  so  entirely  free  from  all 
the  appearance  of  art,  nor  a  habit  of  active  and 
earnest  thought  so  much  resembling  revery  in  the 
familiarity  and  carelessness  of  its  flow. 

One  of  the  most  striking  traits  of  Addison's  mind 
was  his  humor,  a  quality  of  writing  which  is  enjoyed 
more  generally  than  it  is  understood.  It  is  commonly 
supposed  to  be  a  gift,  something  belonging  to  the 
native  constitution  of  the  mind ;  but,  if  so,  the  birth 
right  would  be  found  of  little  advantage,  without  that 
ready  tact  and  intuitive  discernment  of  the  right  time 
and  place,  which  give  humor  its  principal  charm. 
The  untimely  jest  is  like  the  stamp  of  an  awkward 
man  upon  a  gouty  toe :  it  is  apt  to  be  received  with 
a  gratitude  bordering  on  profaneness,  and  it  is  a  cau 
tion  to  all  the  prudent  to  keep  out  of  the  way  of  the 
offender's  disastrous  evolutions.  Some,  like  Swift, 
who  would  otherwise  be  masters  of  the  art,  disarm 
themselves  of  part  of  their  power  by  an  appearance 
of  ill-nature.  Any  thing  which  looks  like  savage- 
ness,  or  an  intent  to  wound,  always  creates  antipathy 
to  him  who  indulges  his  satirical  propensity  at  the 
expense  of  another's  feelings.  Even  if  the  satire 
should  be  wholly  impersonal,  and  aimed  at  the  follies 
and  infirmities  of  human  nature,  the  caustic  and  bit- 


298  ADDISON. 

ing  reflection  which  implies  bitterness  in  him  who 
makes  it  never  gives  pleasure,  nor  finds  a  general 
welcome. 

There  is  also,  in  some  humorous  writers  who  have 
nothing  of  this  misanthropy,  a  kind  of  sly  coarseness, 
an  apparent  enjoyment  of  sensual  allusions,  a  dispo 
sition  to  tread  as  near  as  they  dare  to  such  for 
bidden  ground,  Avhich  the  refined  and  cultivated 
reader  takes  as  an  insult  to  himself,  and  does  not 
readily  forgive.  This  is  a  temptation,  a  strange  and 
fatal  one,  from  which,  we  are  sorry  to  say,  a  writer 
of  our  own  land,  whom  we  could  otherwise  name 
with  the  highest  honor,  is  not  entirely  free.  But  in 
Addison's  humor  no  one  can  trace  any  of  these  faults 
of  taste,  spirit,  or  feeling.  It  plays  like  sunbeams 
through  the  broken  clouds  upon  the  landscape,  light 
ing  it  up  with  gladness.  Nature  herself  is  not  more 
exempt  from  severity  and  grossness  ;  and  we  see 
that,  largely  gifted  as  he  was  with  the  natural  power, 
he  rather  restrains  than  indulges  it :  he  never  looks 
abroad  for  the  jest,  and  receives  with  selection  those 
which  present  themselves  while  he  is  writing.  He 
always  distinguishes  most  accurately  the  appropriate 
place  and  time  for  producing  it ;  thus  showing  that 
it  requires  high  cultivation  of  mind,  a  quick  percep 
tion  of  fitness,  and  a  perfect  command  of  the  powers, 
to  employ  this  faculty  to  advantage.  Otherwise,  it 
is  of  no  value,  and  may  be  even  an  injury  to  the  pos 
sessor  ;  as  the  gift  of  Tell's  arrows  would  be  of  little 
avail  without  the  sure  hand  and  eye  to  use  them. 

Nothing  could  be  more  superfluous  than  to  praise 
the  style  of  Addison,  which  has  been  admired  by  sue- 


ADDISON.  299 

cessive  generations  as  the  most  perfect  of  all  exam 
ples.  Art,  in  its  highest  cultivation,  comes  back  to 
nature ;  and  thus,  while  naturalness  is  the  prevailing 
charm  of  his  manner,  it  shows  the  result,  but  not  the 
action,  of  high  finish  and  industrious  care.  The  Avord 
gentlemanly  would  describe  it  better  than  any  other, 
because  it  implies  the  union  of  elegance  and  refine 
ment  with  energy  and  power.  In  order  to  be  thus 
natural,  style  must  be  the  true  expression  of  the  hab 
itual  movements  of  the  mind ;  it  is  not  to  be  made 
up  or  put  on  at  pleasure ;  if  it  is  second-hand,  it  will 
betray  its  unlawful  origin,  like  stolen  garments  which 
do  not  fit  the  wearer.  The  only  way  really  to  im 
prove  a  deficient  style  is,  not  to  change  the  arrange 
ment  and  selection  of  language  ;  the  care  in  such 
cases  must  be  applied  directly  to  the  mind  itself;  and 
its  utterance  will  become  free  and  graceful  in  propor 
tion  to  the  order  which  it  establishes  among  its  trea 
sures  and  resources,  and  the  easy  mastery  over  its 
own  powers  which  practice  enables  it  to  obtain. 

We  say  this,  because  style  is  often  spoken  of  as  if 
it  was  an  art,  like  drawing  or  painting,  which  may 
be  acquired  by  one  mind  as  well  as  another,  by  the 
obscure  and  feeble  as  well  as  the  clear  and  strong. 
So,  in  point  of  fact,  the  matter  is  treated  by  many 
writers ;  those,  for  example,  who  have  endeavored 
to  Germanize  their  manner.  But  the  style  is  not 
their  own :  they  are  responsible,  doubtless,  as  a  man 
is  held  to  answer  for  what  he  borrows  or  steals ;  but 
it  gives  no  indication  of  their  natural  tone  of  thought, 
any  more  than  a  bell,  when  it  tolls  for  funeral  or 
worship,  expresses  its  own  sorrow  or  devotion. 


300  ADDISON. 

Should  their  minds  perchance  speak  out,  they  would 
throw  all  the  fine  arrangement  into  confusion,  and 
startle  their  owners,  perhaps,  by  the  plain  English 
which  they  would  employ.  We  may  depend  upon 
it,  that  Carlyle  does  not  talk  Carlylism,  nor  do  the 
imitators  of  that  eminent  person  walk  in  darkness 
through  a  conversation  as  coolly  as  through  a  printed 
page.  When  their  object  is  to  express  their  thought, 
none  can  do  it  better  ;  and  till  they  do  the  same  thing 
in  writing  as  freely  as  in  ordinary  communication 
with  their  friends,  they  may  be  cheered  on  with  the 
desperate  admiration  of  a  misguided  few,  but  they 
will  find  themselves  out  in  their  dead-reckoning.  If 
they  are  bound  for  immortality,  or  even  for  general 
favor,  they  had  better  take  observations  of  the  great 
lights  of  the  literary  world.  From  these  they  will 
find,  that  no  style  can  be  extensively  popular  and 
pleasing  which  is  not  a  true  and  direct  expression  of 
the  writer's  way  of  thinking.  It  is  not  enslaved  to 
any  particular  form ;  it  is  bound  by  no  narrow  and 
rigid  law.  The  elephantine  march  of  Johnson  may 
be  as  welcome  as  the  manly  gait  of  Addison,  because 
it  represents  as  truly  the  movements  of  his  ponderous 
and  gigantic  mind. 

But  the  character  of  this  distinguished  man  is  a 
more  important  consideration  than  his  talents  or  his 
style :  indeed  it  was  this  which,  shining  through  his 
writings,  did  as  much  as  his  ability  to  give  him  in 
fluence  in  his  own  time,  and  an  illustrious  memory  in 
ours.  John  Foster,  who,  with  all  his  excellence,  occa 
sionally  betrayed  something  of  that  crustiness  which 
among  some  sects  passes  for  a  Christian  grace,  spoke 


ADDISON.  301 

in  a  wholesale  and  sweeping  way  of  all  the  chief 
names  in  English  literature,  as  opposed  to  the  spirit 
of  the  gospel,  and  aiding  and  comforting  the  enemy 
by  their  influence  and  example.  To  some  extent, 
this  was  true.  There  was  quite  too  little  sense  of 
responsibility  associated  with  intellectual  power : 
either  the  intense  effort  to  keep  body  and  soul  toge 
ther  made  them  careless  in  what  manner  they  fed 
the  popular  taste,  or  the  jealousies  incident  to  their 
profession  destroyed  their  conscience  and  kindness ; 
or  in  some  instances,  perhaps,  their  heads  were 
turned  by  success.  Whatever  the  cause  may  have 
been,  a  greater  proportion  than  one  could  have  sup 
posed  were  unfaithful  to  the  high  trust  which  is  con 
fided  to  all  who  are  gifted  with  high  powers.  Still, 
it  is  extraordinary  that  with  such  an  example  as 
Addison  before  him,  one  which  can  be  contemplated 
with  almost  unmingled  satisfaction,  any  moralist 
should  give  so  hasty  a  verdict,  which  savors  more  of 
passion  than  truth  even  in  its  application  to  others, 
and  cannot  be  sustained  for  a  moment  with  respect 
to  him.  If  religion  be  the  great  science  of  duty,  it 
would  be  hard  to  show  where  it  ever  found  a  more 
effective  teacher ;  and  we  trust  we  shall  be  able  to 
make  it  appear,  that,  if  his  tone  and  profession  were 
high,  his  life  and  conversation  stood  ready  to  make 
them  good. 

But  here  we  are  met  by  some  prevailing  impres 
sions  concerning  Addison,  which  allow  that  in  most 
respects  he  was  eminently  worthy,  but  nevertheless 
charge  him  with  certain  faults  and  frailties  which 
throw  a  shadow  over  his  name  ;  and,  as  the  subject 

26 


302  ADDISON. 

is  an  interesting  chapter  in  literary  history,  we  pro 
pose  to  consider  it  somewhat  at  large.  All  who 
knew  him  bore  witness  to  his  excellence :  his  good 
ness  of  heart  and  strength  of  principle  appear  in 
every  part  of  his  life.  His  freedom  from  ambition 
is  clearly  shown  by  his  writing,  for  the  most  part, 
without  giving  his  name  to  the  world ;  and  his  gen 
erous  kindness  could  hardly  be  proved  more  conclu 
sively  than  by  his  submitting  to  this  labor  to  serve 
another.  And  yet,  strange  as  it  may  seem,  it  is  in 
these  very  points  that  some  have  assailed  him,  accus 
ing  him  of  jealous  hostility  to  rising  men  of  genius, 
and  of  selfish  unkindness  to  his  friends.  Such  traits 
of  character  are  not  very  consistent  with  that  reli 
gious  virtue  which  he  is  so  generally  admitted  to 
have  possessed,  that,  as  Boswell  assures  us,  Johnson, 
who,  from  political  prejudice,  was  no  friend  to  his 
memory,  was  in  the  habit  of  recommending  his  writ 
ings  to  those  who  felt  the  need  of  high  influence  and 
inspiration,  and  often  spoke  of  him  with  great  re 
spect,  as  foremost  among  the  wise  and  good. 

All  these  impressions  to  the  disadvantage  of  Addi- 
son  can  be  traced  home  to  the  authority  of  Pope, 
who,  though  in  some  respects  a  good  man,  was  noto 
riously  jealous  of  his  own  literary  standing,  and,  as 
he  had  no  mercy  for  those  who  were  beneath,  was 
not  likely  to  look  with  much  benignity  on  one  who 
stood  above  him.  His  infirmity  was  not  without  its 
excuses  :  his  personal  deformity  was  of  a  kind  which 
sours  the  temper ;  his  nervous  temperament  was  irrit 
able  to  the  last  degree  ;  and,  while  his  poetical  talent 
made  him  a  subject  of  interest  and  admiration,  his 


ADDISON.  303 

bodily  weakness  prevented  his  appearing  familiarly 
in  the  public  eye.  In  his  partial  retirement,  he  was 
surrounded  by  parasites  of  that  kind  who  manifest 
their  faithfulness,  not  by  friendly  services,  but  by  flat 
tering  unworthy  prejudices  and  passions,  and,  in  case 
of  any  alienation,  are  like  the  firemen  of  Constanti 
nople,  who,  it  is  said,  for  reasons  of  their  own,  some 
times  throw  oil  on  the  flames  of  a  conflagration, 
which  has  less  effect  to  extinguish  them  than  the  ele 
ment  that  is  commonly  employed. 

Spence's  "  Anecdotes,"  which  Johnson  used  so 
freely  in  writing  his  "  Lives  of  the  Poets,"  contains 
a  rich  abundance  of  this  kind  of  lore.  Pope  appears 
to  have  made  his  humble  friend  the  residuary  legatee 
of  all  his  suspicions  and  aversions  ;  and  as  Johnson 
lived  at  a  time  when  party  spirit  was  at  the  highest, 
and  did  not  conceal  his  belief  that  to  be  a  "  vile 
Whig"  was  an  inexpiable  sin,  he  gave  more  faith  to 
the  stories  and  intimations  of  the  "  Anecdotes  "  than 
he  would  have  done,  if  Addison  had  had  the  pre 
sumptive  evidence  of  Toryism  in  his  favor  ;  and,  as 
his  life  of  the  Whig  statesman  and  poet  has  of  course 
displaced  all  others,  the  character  which  he  has  given 
him  determines  the  opinion  of  the  present  age.  But 
there  was  nothing  underhand  in  the  prejudice  of 
Johnson  :  it  was  always  manly,  aboveboard,  and 
made  no  pretension  to  thorough  impartiality.  Such 
was  his  stern  veracity,  that  nothing  would  induce 
him  to  distort  or  suppress  the  truth,  or  rather  what 
he  considered  the  truth,  though  he  was  often  misled 
by  his  feelings  in  his  attempts  to  ascertain  it.  On 
several  occasions,  as  we  shall  see,  he  detects  Spence's 


304  ADDISON. 

misrepresentations,  and  ascribes  them  to  the  malig 
nity  of  Pope.  The  wonder  is,  that,  when  he  saw 
through  some  of  these  mistakes  or  perversions  of 
fact,  whichever  they  may  have  been,  he  should  have 
felt  as  if  such  a  guide  could  ever  be  safely  trusted ; 
for  trust  him  he  did,  too  much  and  too  far :  almost 
every  thing  which  he  has  recorded  to  the  disadvan 
tage  of  Addison  rests  on  Spence's  authority  alone. 
We  do  not  suppose,  that  Pope  told  his  humble  chro 
nicler  what  he  did  not  himself  believe  :  the  term 
malignity,  which  Johnson  employs,  must  be  received 
with  some  discount  for  his  habitual  choice  of  over 
grown  words.  The  amount  of  this  malice  was,  that, 
being  jealous  of  Addison  as  a  rival,  he  was  ready  to 
credit  and  repeat  whatever  was  said  to  his  disadvan 
tage  ;  and  those  persons  who  think  it  a  pity  to  spoil 
a  pretty  quarrel  were  always  at  hand  to  minister  to 
the  prejudice  which  Pope,  unfortunately  for  his  hap 
piness  and  honor,  was  too  well  disposed  to  feel. 

Very  little  is  known  of  Addison's  early  life,  nor 
can  it  now  be  ascertained  how  far  the  influences 
which  acted  upon  him  in  childhood  determined  his 
character  in  later  years  :  sometimes  those  influences 
form  young  minds  by  sympathy,  sometimes  by  re 
action  and  resistance.  His  father  was  a  divine, 
respectable  in  his  way,  but  earnest  and  busy  in  those 
times  which  made  all  men  politicians.  Active,  how 
ever,  as  he  was  in  his  devotion  to  church  and  king, 
he  lived  in  comparative  want,  and  was  rewarded 
only  by  coming  in  sight  of  a  bishopric  before  he 
died.  One  story  of  Addison's  younger  days  repre 
sents  him  as  escaping  from  school,  to  avoid  some 


ADDISON, 


305 


punishment  which  weighed  on  his  imagination,  and 
living  on  such  food  as  the  woods  supplied,  till  his 
retreat  was  discovered,  Dr,  Johnson  records  a  tra 
dition  of  his  once  being  ringleader  in  a  "  barring 
out."  The  two  legends  seem  inconsistent  with  each 
other,  and  yet  they  may  both  be  true.  The  former 
does  not  show,  as  Miss  Aikin  believes,  the  elements 
of  that  bashful  spirit  which  afflicted  him  so  much 
in  his  manhood.  The  fact  is,  that  all  boys  grow 
retiring  in  their  manner,  when  they  are  threatened 
with  a  whipping ;  and,  though  it  is  not  always  the 
case,  as  Goldsmith  says,  that  your  modest  people 
are  the  most  impudent  in  the  world,  it  is  true  that 
many  are  bold  and  free  with  their  associates,  who 
are  .subdued  in  the  presence  of  others. 

Addison  was  never  able,  through  a  life  spent  in 
the  daylight  of  the  world,  to  throw  off  that  embar 
rassment  which  paralyzed  the  action  of  his  mind  in 
company,  and  made  him  appear  distant,  cold,  and 
still.  Chesterfield,  in  whose  presence  he  was  not 
likely  to  thaw,  described  him  as  an  awkward  man, 
while  those  whose  company  he  enjoyed  received  a 
very  different  impression  of  his  manners  and  social 
powers.  Swift,  who  was  not  apt  to  err  by  excess  of 
praise,  said  that  he  never  saw  a  man  half  so  agreea 
ble.  Lady  Mary  Montague,  who  had  a  tolerable 
acquaintance  with  society,  described  him  as  the  best 
company  in  the  world.  Pope,  who,  in  his  very 
eulogy,  shows  something  of  pique,  allows  that  his 
company  was  more  charming  than  that  of  any  other 
man,  though  with  strangers  he  preserved  his  dignity 
by  a  stiff  silence  ;  thus  ascribing  to  hauteur  that  cold- 

26* 


306  ADDISON. 

ness  which  was  evidently  owing  to  natural  diffidence 
and  reserve.  Dr.  Young  says,  that  he  was  rather 
mute  on  some  occasions ;  but,  when  he  felt  at  ease, 
he  went  on  in  a  noble  strain  of  thought  and  lan 
guage,  which  enchained  the  attention  of  all. 

There  are  many  such  testimonials  to  the  richness 
and  variety  of  his  conversation  ;  and,  if  any  received 
a  different  impression,  it  is  plainly  owing  to  the 
constitutional,  or  rather  English,  reserve  which  hung 
like  a  mill-stone  about  him  all  his  days.  It  is  thought 
to  be  less  common  in  our  country :  here,  old  and 
young,  the  latter  especially,  have  in  general  quite  as 
much  confidence  as  the  case  requires.  Still,  there  are 
examples  of  those  who  labor  and  suffer  under  this 
disease,  which  renders  them  in  company  "  afraid  to 
sit,  afraid  to  fly ;  "  unable  to  say  the  right  thing,  and, 
if  they  say  any  thing,  sure  to  say  the  wrong ;  but 
generally  so  oppressed  with  the  necessity  of  speak 
ing,  that,  through  fear  of  being  silent,  they  dare  not 
open  their  lips,  and  causing  epicures  in  conversation 
to  say,  that,  however  much  they  might  like  the  oys 
ter  if  accessible,  they  cannot  submit  to  the  trouble  of 
opening  the  shell. 

It  was  while  at  school  that  Addison  formed  that 
friendship  with  Steele  which  gave  so  decided  a  direc 
tion  to  his  future  life.  Steele,  who,  though  his 
parents  were  English,  contrived  to  be  born  in  Dub 
lin,  as  the  appropriate  birthplace  for  one  of  such  an 
Irish  nature,  was,  as  the  world  knows  full  well,  a 
thoughtless,  inconsistent,  rantipole  person,  full  of  tal 
ent  and  good  feeling,  which  were  made  of  small 
effect  by  his  total  want  of  discretion  in  common 


ADDISON. 


307 


affairs.  If  it  was  possible  for  him  to  get  into  diffi 
culty,  he  was  sure  to  improve  the  chance ;  but,  at 
the  same  time,  so  amiable  was  his  disposition,  that 
he  always  found  friends,  who,  though  out  of  patience 
with  his  folly,  were  ready  to  get  him  out  of  the  scrape. 
Early  in  life,  being  sensible  of  his  own  frailty,  he 
endeavored  to  put  himself  under  the  necessity  of 
living  religiously,  by  writing  a  book  called  "  The 
Christian  Hero ;  "  but,  as  there  was  no  basis  of  prin 
ciple,  nor  even  taste,  under  his  conversion,  the  incon 
sistency  which  soon  appeared  between  his  life  and 
his  profession  made  it  worse  for  him  in  every  respect 
than  if  his  banner  had  not  been  lifted  quite  so  high. 
Then,  to  enliven  himself  under  the  depression  brought 
on  by  ridicule  and  reproach,  he  wrote  a  comedy 
called  "  The  Funeral,"  with  which  the  public  were 
entertained,  as  might  be  expected  from  so  sprightly 
a  subject,  and  which,  of  course,  was  in  the  same 
degree  refreshing  to  the  writer. 

A  literary  life  commencing  thus  would  hardly  be 
expected  to  lead  to  propitious  results ;  and  he  would 
have  done  nothing  to  establish  his  reputation  as  a 
writer,  had  it  not  been  for  his  illustrious  friend.  It 
was  not  unnatural  that  the  shy  and  delicate  Addison 
should  take  a  fancy  to  the  bold  and  open-hearted 
Steele ;  and  the  latter  had  sufficient  discernment  to 
understand  the  merits  and  abilities  of  his  compan 
ion.  The  attachment  thus  formed  continued  nearly 
through  life ;  and  only  the  exasperation  of  political 
feeling,  which  spares  nothing  that  is  sacred,  could 
have  alienated  them  from  each  other ;  for  it  is  unfor 
tunately  true,  that  the  bands  were  broken  at  last. 


308  ADDISON, 

Addison  appears  to  have  been  originally  destined 
for  the  church  ;  and  his  thoughtful  and  contemplative 
spirit  might  have  found  a  home  in  the  sacred  pro 
fession,  where  it  is  not,  as  in  England,  dependent  on 
patronage,  and  therefore  married  to  worldliness  by 
law.  For  some  reason  now  unknown,  perhaps  by 
unconsciously  yielding  to  circumstances,  he  inclined 
to  the  paths  of  literature ;  and,  while  yet  at  Oxford, 
he  is  found  in  communication  with  Tonson  the  book 
seller,  whose  name  is  as  familiar  in  the  annals  of  the 
time  as  that  of  Monsieur  Tonson  at  a  later  day. 
His  essay  on  the  "  Georgics,"  which  he  affixed  to  the 
translation  of  Dryden,  who  appears  to  have  been 
pleased  and  flattered  by  his  attentions,  was  not  con 
sidered  as  promising  much  strength  and  originality, 
though  its  style  was  unexceptionable,  and  its  criticism 
just.  Of  a  translation  of  the  fourth  "  Georgic," 
which  he  attempted,  the  elder  poet  courteously  ob 
served,  that,  after  it,  his  own  swarm  would  not  be 
worth  the  hiving.  He  engaged  also  in  a  translation 
of  Herodotus,  to  be  superintended  and  partly  exe 
cuted  by  himself;  which  implies  that  he  had  more 
acquaintance  with  Greek  than  Johnson  was  disposed 
to  allow.  This  work  never  reached  the  press ;  but 
his  translations  from  Ovid  were  published,  with  notes 
which  eclipse  the  poetry,  and,  as  the  great  critic  ad 
mitted,  gave  full  promise  of  that  discriminating  taste 
and  talent  which  were  afterwards  so  brightly  mani 
fested,  and  admired  as  widely  as  they  were  known. 
He  also  produced  a  work  which,  at  a  later  period, 
he  seemed  very  willing  to  suppress.  It  was  an  ac 
count  of  English  poets  from  Chaucer  to  Dryden,  in 


ADDISON.  309 

which  he  treats  the  patriarch  and  his  successor  Spen 
ser  without  the  reverence  which  they  so  well  deserve, 
and  which  is  clamorously  asserted  for  them  by  some, 
who,  admiring  without  having  read,  are  vengeful 
against  those  who  have  read  without  admiring. 

The  truth  was,  that  the  French  classical  taste  was 
then  coming  into  England,  teaching  its  poets  to  care 
rather  more  for  polished  elegance  of  language  and 
measure  than  for  the  more  substantial  elements  of 
truth  and  nature.  The  new  fashion  prevailed  ;  and, 
as  usual,  the  fashion  which  it  displaced  was  treated 
with  unmerited  scorn.  In  this  way  it  is  that  the 
public  taste  is  always  swinging,  like  a  pendulum,  far 
on  one  side  or  the  other.  This  fancy  came  to  its 
height  of  finish  and  excellence  in  Pope ;  another  age 
has  seen  him,  with  all  his  beauty  arid  power,  treated 
with  profane  derision,  while  a  passion  for  infantine 
simplicity  rises  and  reigns  for  a  time ;  this,  too,  after 
keeping  the  stage  for  its  permitted  season,  is  destined 
to  give  place  to  some  other  excess.  But  sufficient 
to  the  day  is  its  own  evil :  what  this  excess  is  to  be, 
we  are  not  yet  unfortunate  enough  to  know. 

Addison,  with  no  small  share  of  talent  for  poetry, 
was  of  course  under  the  influence  of  the  day ;  and, 
while  his  natural  tendency  was  to  nature,  he  was 
drawn  aside  by  cultivation ;  and  thus,  inclining  one 
way  while  he  walked  in  another,  he  could  not  be 
expected  to  reach  the  height  of  success.  It  is  a  little 
remarkable,  that  the  effort  which  brought  him  at  once 
into  notice  was  made  to  order.  Such  productions 
generally  have  small  attraction,  except  to  those  whose 
exploits  they  commemorate  and  flatter  :  if  they  betray 


310  ADDISON. 

any  other  inspiration  than  that  of  necessity  or  ambi 
tion,  their  flame,  like  a  fire  of  shavings,  is  soon  spent, 
leaving  no  permanent  brightness  in  the  literary  sky. 
His  courtly  career  commenced  with  lines  on  the 
king's  return  from  his  European  campaign  in  1695, 
which  gained  him  the  favorable  regard  of  Lord 
Somers,  whose  approbation  was  an  honor.  In  1697, 
he  again  sang  the  praise  of  William,  who  had  no 
ear  for  such  matters,  in  some  lines  on  the  Peace  of 
Ryswick.  These  were  addressed  to  Montagu,  then 
a  leading  public  character,  eminent  in  literature  as 
well  as  in  the  public  councils.  That  statesman,  in 
acknowledgment  of  the  attention,  procured  him  a 
grant  of  three  hundred  pounds  a  year,  to  give  him 
the  means  of  travelling ;  a  favor  which  would  have 
been  more  to  the  purpose,  had  the  money  ever  been 
paid ;  but  the  king  died  soon  after,  and  the  little 
which  he  ever  did  for  literature  came  at  once  to  a 
close. 

The  young  poet  also  gained  reputation  by  Latin 
verses  on  the  peace.  Johnson  allows  them  to  have 
been  vigorous  and  elegant ;  and  when  Addison  went 
abroad,  the  volume,  published  with  a  preface  of  his 
own  writing,  served  as  an  introduction  to  learned 
and  accomplished  men.  Among  others,  he  presented 
it  to  Boileau,  then  in  the  height  of  his  fame.  The 
Frenchman  replied,  that  the  work  had  given  him  a 
new  idea  of  English  cultivation  ;  and  truly  there  was 
room  for  new  ideas,  if  we  may  judge  from  his  remark 
to  a  traveller  who  told  him  what  honor  the  English 
had  paid  to  the  memory  of  Dryden.  He  said  he 
was  happy  to  learn  it,  but  he  had  never  heard  the 


ADDISON.  311 

gentleman's  name  before.  Alas  for  glorious  John  ! 
The  truth  was,  the  French  at  that  time  lorded  it  over 
the  political  and  literary  world  like  undisputed  and 
rather  supercilious  masters.  King  William  had  done 
something  to  break  their  civil  and  military  sceptre, 
and  Marlborough  was  in  a  fair  way  to  finish  what  he 
had  begun.  But  it  was  long  before  any  literary 
changes  let  sufficient  light  into  France  to  see  the 
names  of  Shakspeare  and  Milton,  so  completely 
eclipsed  were  they  by  certain  French  luminaries,  — 
lost  pleiads,  too,  which  have  long  since  perished,  and 
never  been  missed  from  the  skies. 

Whatever  Addison's  timidity  and  reserve  may 
have  been  in  England,  he  appears  to  have  left  them 
behind  him  when  he  travelled  ;  for  we  find  him  mak 
ing  acquaintance  with  all  those  who  were  distin 
guished  in  literature.  He  remarks,  in  one  of  his 
letters,  that  he  had  not  seen  a  blush  since  he  landed 
in  France  :  probably  it  is  with  blushes  as  with  other 
matters,  that  the  supply  is  regulated  by  the  demand. 
Being  but  imperfectly  acquainted  with  the  French 
language,  he  took  up  his  residence  for  a  time  at  Blois, 
where  it  was  thought  to  be  spoken  in  great  purity,  in 
order  to  learn  it. 

While  preparing  himself  by  the  acquisition  of  mod 
ern  languages  for  his  European  tour,  he  was  dili 
gently  studying  the  allusions  of  classical  writers  to 
Italy  and  its  antiquities ;  those  being  the  subject  of 
interest  on  which  he  had  set  his  heart.  His  letters 
written  at  the  time  are  short ;  but  they  have  some 
touches  of  his  peculiar  manner,  particularly  one  in 
which  he  congratulates  a  friend  who  tells  him  that 


312  ADDISON. 

he  has  lost  ten  pounds  by  a  copy  of  verses.  Addison 
assures  him,  that  every  time  he  meets  with  such  a 
loss,  the  more  like  a  true  poet  he  Avill  be.  In  the 
spelling  of  his  letters,  there  is  something  which  would 
fill  a  phonographer  with  delight:  the  word  "  bin" 
always  represents  the  preterite  of  the  verb  to  be  ;  and 
there  are  sundry  other  graces  of  the  kind,  which 
show  how  little  importance  was  then  attached  to 
what  is  now  considered  essential  in  a  well-educated 
writer. 

On  his  second  visit  to  Paris,  he  was  able  to  enjoy 
the  society  in  which  it  abounded ;  and,  if  it  seems 
strange,  that,  with  his  acknowledged  reserve,  he 
could  ever  make  himself  at  home  in  it,  we  must 
remember  that  such  persons  are  very  much  influ 
enced  by  the  prevailing  social  spirit.  In  England, 
such  a  man  would  need  to  be  furnished  with  an 
ice-breaker  to  make  his  way  in  their  arctic  circles ; 
but  where  there  is  no  reserve  to  meet  reserve,  but 
all  are  at  their  ease,  a  bashful  man  forgets  himself, 
ceases  to  think  of  his  own  words  and  motions,  and 
therefore  is  unconstrained  and  free.  He  was  very 
much  struck  with  the  cheerfulness  of  the  French, 
and  the  excellent  terms  with  themselves  on  which 
they  all  stood.  Sometimes  their  self-exaltation  was 
disagreeable  to  an  Englishman,  who  of  course  had 
as  good  an  opinion  of  his  own  country  as  they  could 
possibly  have  of  France  ;  but  their  familiar  courtesy 
was  always  pleasing,  and  among  their  men  of  letters 
he  found  these  whom  he  considered  it  a  privilege  to 
know.  Among  others,  he  visited  Malebranche,  who 
was  much  admired  by  the  English.  The  French 


ADDISON.  313 

nation  at  the  time  had  taken  a  religious  turn,  and 
apprehended  that  there  might  be  something  unchris 
tian  in  speculations  which  they  did  not  understand. 
Malebranche  was  therefore  better  acquainted  with 
the  great  men  of  England  than  some  others  of  his 
countrymen  ;  and,  though  he  said  nothing  of  glori 
ous  John,  who  was  out  of  his  line,  he  had  heard  of 
Newton,  and  also  of  Hobbes,  at  whom  he  shook  his 
head. 

But  Italy  is  the  country  in  which  such  a  traveller 
must  feel  most  at  home.  He  reached  it  in  the  usual 
way  by  the  tour  through  Switzerland,  where  the 
scenery  impressed  him  as  it  does  all  others.  His 
indifference,  amounting  to  contempt  for  the  Gothic 
architecture,  which  appears  in  some  passages  of  his 
work,  has  given  an  impression  to  the  disadvantage 
of  his  taste.  But  this  preference  was  of  the  conven 
tional  kind  ;  it  was  one  in  which  he  was  educated ; 
it  was  not  to  be  overcome  by  general  cultivation, 
like  a  mistaken  choice  in  literary  works,  nor  had  it 
any  thing  to  do  with  that  love  of  nature,  which  often 
is  found  mature  and  faultless  in  those  who  do  not 
know  one  picture,  statue,  or  building  from  another. 
While  in  France,  he  was  agreeably  struck  with 
those  places  in  which  the  French  king,  when  improv 
ing  his  palace-grounds,  had  followed  the  leading 
suggestions  of  nature,  instead  of  forcing  nature  into 
the  traces  of  art.  We  apprehend  that  he  must  have 
found  but  few  such  cases,  and  he  valued  them  the 
more  perhaps  on  account  of  their  rarity ;  for  the 
landscape  gardening  of  that  day,  which  was  im 
ported  from  that  country  into  England,  seemed  to 
27 


314  ADDISON. 

have  for  its  leading  principle  to  suppress  nature,  and 
to  extinguish  what  it  could  not  reform. 

But,  while  he  found  pleasure  in  contemplating 
these  wonders  and  glories  of  the  visible  world,  his 
active  and  searching  mind  made  him  a  philosophical 
observer  of  men.  He  looks  upon  them  with  "  most 
humorous  sadness  ;  "  sometimes  smiling  at  follies  and 
pretensions,  often  breathing  a  fine  spirit  of  liberty, 
but  always  inspired  with  a  love  of  his  race.  He  was 
just  the  man  to  encounter  the  officer  of  the  Prince  of 
Monaco,  whose  dominions  consisted  of  two  towns. 
That  official  told  him,  with  much  solemnity,  that  his 
master  and  the  king  of  France  were  faithful  allies 
and  friends.  His  most  Christian  majesty  must  have 
derived  great  solace  from  this  assurance,  when  Marl- 
borough  was  thundering  on  his  borders.  The  little 
republic  of  San  Marino,  which  has  existed  through 
so  many  changes  in  Europe,  is  described  with  ad 
mirable  humor  ;  of  that  kind,  however,  which,  with 
out  any  violent  transition,  easily  resumes  the  serious 
vein.  It  closes  with  a  manly  reflection  on  that  natural 
love  of  liberty  which  fills  its  rocks  and  snows  with 
inhabitants,  while  the  Campagna  is  deserted  ;  show 
ing  the  deep  and  universal  feeling,  that  the  chief 
blessing  of  moral  existence  is  for  men  to  feel  that 
they  are  free. 

In  his  description  of  Rome,  where  he  spent  con 
siderable  time,  the  same  fine  spirit  appears.  Though 
he  does  not  seem  to  have  been  an  enthusiast  in  the 
arts,  he  was  deeply  interested  in  every  thing  con 
nected  with  ancient  literature  ;  and  the  remains  of 
the  Eternal  City,  eternal  in  its  glory  and  influence, 


ADDISON. 


315 


though  sinking  under  the  effects  of  malaria  and  time, 
had  all  of  them  some  relation  to  those  studies  in  which 
he  was  most  deeply  interested.  His  political  feel 
ing,  if,  indeed,  it  does  not  deserve  the  higher  name 
of  humanity,  is  shown  in  the  remark,  that  the  gran 
deur  of  the  old  commonwealth  manifested  itself  in 
works  of  convenience  or  necessity,  such  as  temples, 
highways,  aqueducts,  walks,  and  bridges ;  while  the 
magnificence  of  the  city  under  the  emperors  dis 
played  itself  in  works  of  luxury  or  ostentation,  such 
as  amphitheatres,  circuses,  triumphal  arches,  pillars, 
and  mausoleums.  Miss  Aikin  suggests  that  he  was 
the  first  who  ever  used  the  expression  "  classic 
ground,"  which  is  now  as  familiar  as  the  ground 
on  which  we  tread.  In  his  days,  Rome  was  not 
visited,  as  it  is  now,  by  tourists  from  all  parts  of  the 
world  :  the  Englishman,  having  no  social  intercourse 
with  the  living,  had  ample  time  for  intimacy  with  the 
mighty  dead.  Addison  remarks  that  he  had  become 
an  adept  in  ancient  coins,  while  he  had  almost  lost 
his  acquaintance  with  English  money.  As  to  rust, 
he  could  tell  the  age  of  it  at  sight ;  having  been 
forced,  by  his  total  want  of  other  society,  to  converse 
with  pictures,  statues,  and  medals,  all  of  which  had 
some  story  to  tell  of  the  interesting  and  memorable 
past. 

Swift,  in  a  well-known  allusion  to  Addison's  cir 
cumstances  at  this  time,  speaks  of  him  as  caressed 
by  lords,  and  left  distressed  in  foreign  lands  ;  which 
is  true  enough,  so  far  as  regards  his  circumstances, 
though  the  lords  do  not  appear  to  deserve  the 
reproach  which  the  dean,  with  his  usual  caustic 


316 


ADDISON. 


philanthropy,  endeavors  to  cast  upon  them.  They 
faithfully  served  Addison,  or  rather  meant  to  serve 
him,  while  they  had  the  power :  it  was  no  fault  of 
theirs  that  King  William  broke  his  neck,  and  the 
pension  was  left  unpaid.  Their  ability  to  serve  him 
depended  on  their  continuance  in  office,  and  they 
would  have  been  glad  to  retain  the  power,  if  possi 
ble.  They  had  already  designated  him  for  the  office 
of  English  secretary,  to  attend  Prince  Eugene,  who 
had  just  commenced  the  war  in  Italy,  for  the  pur 
pose  of  transmitting  home  accounts  of  his  plans  and 
operations.  These  designs  in  his  favor,  of  course, 
came  to  nothing  when  they  lost  their  places ;  and  he 
must  certainly  have  been  hard  pressed  for  the  means 
of  subsistence.  With  his  usual  manly  reserve  on 
matters  which  were  personal  to  himself,  he  says  no 
thing  of  his  own  wants  or  his  means  ;  neither  does 
Tickell,  who  had  the  means  of  knowing,  supply  the 
deficiency ;  but  the  papers  of  Tonson  show  that  he 
was  looking  round  for  that  support  which  patron 
age  was  no  longer  able  to  supply.  The  bookseller, 
who  was  a  sort  of  Maecenas  in  his  way,  had  been 
desired  by  the  Duke  of  Somerset,  usually  called  the 
Proud,  —  one  of  those  animals  whom  chance  some 
times  appears  to  lift  up  to  see  how  they  will  look  in 
their  elevation,  —  to  find  a  travelling  tutor  for  his 
son  ;  and  it  occurred  to  Tonson,  in  his  good-nature, 
that  the  place  would  be  the  one  for  Addison.  For 
the  service  thus  rendered,  the  duke  was  to  pay  a 
hundred  guineas  at  the  end  of  the  year ;  which  seemed 
to  himself  so  munificent,  that  he  expected  the  offer 
to  be  welcomed  with  rapture  by  the  fortunate  indi- 


ADDISON. 


317 


vidual  on  whom  the  choice  should  fall.  Addison  had 
no  objection  to  the  place  ;  but  he  had  no  mind  to 
worship  the  golden  calf  that  offered  it.  He  accord 
ingly  wrote  an  acceptance  of  the  proposal,  saying,  at 
the  same  time,  that  the  compensation  was  not  such 
as  would  make  it  an  object,  if  the  place  were  not  on 
other  accounts  such  as  he  desired.  This  independ 
ence  was  something  so  new  to  the  nobleman,  that  he 
considered  it  equal  to  a  rejection  of  his  offer  ;  at  any 
rate,  he  saw  that  it  would  not  be  received  with  the 
profound  sense  of  obligation  which  he  expected  ; 
and  thus  he  lost  the  opportunity  of  going  down  to 
future  times  in  connection  with  one  who  would  have 
taught  his  son  the  manners  and  feelings  of  a  gentle 
man,  which  the  young  sparks  of  aristocracy  have  not 
always  the  means  of  learning,  and  whose  fame  was 
bright  enough  to  illuminate  the  insignificance  of  his 
own. 

The  literary  history  of  England  affords  many  such 
examples  of  lords  in  rank  who  are  commoners  in 
spirit  and  feeling.  It  is  well  that  the  changes  of  time 
had  transferred  the  office  of  patron  of  men  of  letters 
to  publishers  like  Jacob  Tonson  and  his  successors. 
If  all  of  them  had  manifested  the  sense  and  spirit  of 
Addison,  the  traditional  base  of  prejudice  on  which 
the  card-house  of  nobility  rests  must  long  since  have 
given  way  to  a  better  system,  which  would  estimate 
claims  to  respect,  not  by  the  court-register  nor  the 
assessor's  list,  but  by  the  elevation  of  manly  and 
moral  feeling,  and  the  riches  of  the  heart. 

When  Addison  returned  to  England,  he  was  high 
in  reputation ;  but,  as  he  was  in  his  thirty-third  year, 
27* 


318  ADDISON. 

without  the  means  of  subsistence,  the  respect  which 
was  paid  him,  and  the  honor  of  being  a  member  of 
the  Kitcat,  did  not  quite  console  him  for  the  prospect 
of  starving.  But  his  political  party  was  rising ;  the 
victories  of  Marlborough  were  quite  as  beneficial  to 
the  Whigs  as  to  the  country ;  and,  when  the  battle 
of  Blenheim  had  thrown  all  others  into  the  shade, 
Godolphin,  turning  his  attention  for  once  from  New 
market  to  Parnassus,  was  anxious  to  find  some  poet 
to  sing  the  triumph  in  strains  of  equal  glory.  As  the 
gentlemen  of  his  acquaintance  dealt  in  other  steeds 
than  Pegasus,  he  applied  to  Montagu,  better  known 
by  his  title  of  Halifax,  who  told  him,  with  more  truth 
than  courtesy,  that,  if  he  knew  such  a  person,  he 
would  not  advise  him  to  write  while  fools  and  block 
heads  were  in  favor,  and  those  who  had  a  good  title 
to  distinction  were  neglected.  The  lord  treasurer 
did  not  resent  the  insinuation,  though  exceeding 
broad,  and  simply  promised  that  whoever  would  do 
the  service  worthily  should  have  no  reason  to  repent 
his  labors.  He  then  sent  to  Addison,  at  the  sugges 
tion  of  Halifax,  who  wisely  thought  that  the  poet 
would  do  more  for  himself  than  his  friends  could  do 
for  him.  The  work  was  undertaken  at  once ;  and, 
when  it  had  proceeded  as  far  as  the  famous  simile  of 
the  angel,  Godolphin,  on  seeing  it,  gave  him  the 
place  of  commissioner  of  appeals,  which  fell  vacant 
by  the  resignation  of  John  Locke. 

There  is  something  grotesque  in  this  dealing  in 
poetry  as  merchandise,  and  rewarding  the  bard  with 
a  post  from  which  the  great  metaphysician  had  just 
departed.  But,  ,vhat  is  more  to  the  purpose,  the 


ADDISON.  319 

poem  was  exactly  what  was  wanted ;  and  it  does 
credit  to  the  public  taste,  that,  with  so  small  an  infu 
sion  of  thunder  and  lightning,  without  any  approach 
to  extravagance  or  excess,  it  should  have  found  its 
way  to  the  proud  heart  of  England,  and  been  deemed 
an  adequate  celebration  of  the  greatest  triumph  of 
her  arms.  The  truth  was,  the  angel  rode  in  the 
whirlwind  and  directed  the  storm  to  very  good  pur 
pose  ;  at  any  rate,  he  contrived  that  they  should  fill 
the  poet's  sails,  which  were  wisely  and  not  ambitiously 
spread.  Though  it  is  not  one  of  those  works  which 
readers  of  the  present  day  care  much  for,  still  it  is 
read,  which  is  more  than  can  be  said  of  any  other 
poem  manufactured  in  the  same  way.  They  com 
monly  die  with  the  momentary  enthusiasm  which 
called  them  into  existence ;  and  the  chief  credit 
which  the  poet  now  gains  is  that  of  having  kept 
clear  of  the  faults  and  follies  in  which  all  similar 
writings  abound.  One  good  effect  of  it  was  to  set 
the  writer  clear  from  debt.  Slow  rises  talent,  when 
poverty  hangs  upon  it ;  its  flight  is  rather  that  of  the 
flying-fish  than  the  eagle  ;  and  Marlborough  did  not 
more  rejoice  to  see  the  enemy  fly,  than  the  poet  to 
disperse  his  duns,  and  once  more  to  stand  even  with 
the  world. 

We  have  dwelt  thus  at  large  on  the  manner  in 
which  Addison  came  forward  into  public  life,  to 
show  that  he  did  not  ascend,  as  Lord  Bacon  says 
men  generally  go  up  to  office,  by  a  u  winding  stair." 
It  was  owing  to  the  prevailing  impression  of  his 
ability,  not  only  in  literary  efforts,  but  for  the  duties 
of  any  station.  Two  years  after  the  publication  of 


320  ADD1SON, 

the  "  Campaign,"  he  was  appointed  under-secretary 
of  state  by  Sir  Charles  Hedges,  and  continued  in 
that  office  by  the  Earl  of  Sunderland.  The  duties 
could  not  have  been  oppressive ;  at  least,  he  was 
able  to  accompany  Lord  Halifax  to  the  Continent 
on  a  complimentary  mission  to  the  Elector,  officiat 
ing  as  secretary  to  the  minister,  and  receiving  from 
that  Maecenas  no  other  compensation  or  reward  than 
the  honor  and  expense  of  the  tour.  It  is  unfortunate 
that  we  have  not  more  of  his  letters,  which  would 
give  us  entertaining  glimpses  of  the  public  events  of 
the  day,  such  as  the  union  of  England  and  Scotland, 
which  was  so  bitterly  opposed  by  many  of  the  latter 
nation.  He  says  that  one  of  the  ministers  of  Edin 
burgh  lamented  in  his  prayer,  that  Providence,  after 
having  exalted  England  to  be  the  head  of  Europe, 
was  in  a  fair  way  to  make  it  one  of  the  tails  :  this  was 
probably  a  correct  expression  of  the  gratitude  with 
which  the  measure  of  annexation  was  received. 

One  pleasant  touch  of  the  old  Stuart  feeling  is 
brought  to  light,  showing  that  Anne  was  not  entirely 
passive,  though  she  spent  her  days  under  the  harrow 
of  royalty,  without  the  least  power  to  do  as  she 
pleased.  Something  having  passed  in  the  lower 
house  of  convocation  tending  to  reduce  her  authority 
as  head  of  the  church,  she  sent  word  to  them  that 
she  forgave  them  for  that  time,  but  would  make  use 
of  some  other  methods  with  them  in  case  they  did 
the  like  in  future.  He  alludes  to  an  odd  premonition 
of  the  revolutionary  spirit  in  France,  in  an  age  when 
no  one  dreamed  of  any  such  thing.  It  was  a  pro 
posal  conveyed  in  a  memorial,  through  the  Duke 


ADD1SON.  321 

of  Burgundy,  to  the  government,  advising  them  to 
get  possession  of  the  useless  plate  in  convents  and 
palaces,  and  to  convert  it  into  money ;  and,  more 
over,  to  take  the  needless  officers  and  pensionaries, 
the  number  of  whom  was  estimated  at  eighty  thou 
sand,  and  to  employ  them  in  the  foreign  service  of 
the  country.  The  latter  part  of  this  plan  might 
answer  for  other  nations,  even  for  some  in  which  the 
grand  consummation  of  republicanism  is  already 
come.  The  only  difficulties  are,  that  the  gentlemen 
in  question,  having  the  management  of  every  thing, 
would  choose  to  render  this  patriotic  service  by 
proxy :  their  part  is  to  gather  to  the  carcass  when  it 
is  fallen,  leaving  others  to  pull  it  down. 

Addison  was  not  long  to  retain  this  office,  which 
was  well  suited  to  his  capacity  and  taste.  The  queen, 
who  was  occasionally  persuaded  to  make  changes,  to 
show  the  world  that  she  had  a  will  of  her  own, — a 
fact  which,  notwithstanding  her  sex,  was  seriously 
doubted,  —  had  begun  to  take  the  Tories  into  favor 
and  council,  and  was  preparing,  as  fast  as  she  dared, 
to  remove  Marlborough  from  his  brilliant  station. 
Meantime,  Addison  was  employed  in  an  attempt  to 
introduce  an  English  opera  to  public  favor  in  Lon 
don.  It  seemed  to  him  ridiculous  for  audiences  to 
sit  by  the  hour  listening  to  a  language  which  neither 
singer  nor  hearer  understood.  His  plan  was  to 
marry  the  Italian  music  to  English  verse ;  without 
reflecting,  that,  as  nature  had  denied  him  an  ear,  he 
was  not  the  person  to  officiate  at  the  bridal,  and  that 
common-sense  is  not  exactly  the  presiding  genius  by 
which  such  matters  are  controlled.  Johnson  says, 


322  ADDJSON. 

that  on  the  stage  the  new  opera  was  either  hissed  or 
neglected,  and  growls  at  the  author  for  dedicating  it, 
when  published,  to  the  Duchess  of  Marlborough,  a 
woman  wholly  without  pretensions  to  literature  or 
taste ;  not  reflecting,  that,  if  poets  had  been  so  fas 
tidious  in  looking  for  patrons,  they  would  have  been 
at.  their  wits'  end  where  to  find  them. 

The  moralist  is,  however,  compelled  by  his  sense 
of  justice  to  allow  that  the  work  is  airy  and  elegant, 
engaging  in  its  progress  and  pleasing  in  its  close.  He 
says  that  the  subject  is  well  chosen,  the  fiction  plea 
sant,  and  the  praise  of  Marlborough  in  it  is  the  result 
of  good-luck,  improved  by  genius,  as  perhaps  every 
work  of  excellence  must  be.  Sir  John  Hawkins, 
who  pretended  to  great  connoisseurship  in  music, 
and  must  at  least  have  been  a  perfect  judge  of  a  dis 
cord,  having  passed  all  his  life  in  one,  pronounced 
the  music  of  "Rosamond,"  which  was  the  name  of 
the  opera,  "  a  jargon  of  sounds."  This,  however, 
was  the  fault  of  the  composer,  or  possibly  might  be 
attributed  to  the  crabbed  temper  of  the  amateur  ; 
and,  when  Johnson  pronounced  the  opera  one  of  the 
best  of  A.ddison's  compositions,  it  is  clear  that  it  could 
not  have  injured  his  fame.  One  good  effect  of  it  was 
to  bring  him  into  acquaintance  with  Tickell,  then  at 
Oxford,  who,  according  to  the  fashion  of  the  time, 
sent  him  some  complimentary  verses.  He  soon  be 
came  the  friend  and  associate  of  Addison,  both  in  his 
literary  and  public  labors,  and  always  proved  himself 
able,  faithful,  and  honorable  in  every  trust  confided  to 
his  hands.  The  only  complaint  the  world  has  to  make 
of  him  is,  that  he  has  told  so  few  particulars  respect- 


ADDISON.  323 

ing  the  life  of  Addison :  this  shows  that  Boswells, 
though  their  price  in  the  market  is  not  high,  are 
beings  of  no  small  value  ;  and  that  the  literary  world 
would  consult  its  own  interest  by  making  it  a  rule  to 
encourage  the  multiplication  of  the  race,  rather  than 
to  ridicule  and  abuse  them. 

One  of  the  last  favors  of  the  Whig  administration 
was  to  give  Addison  the  place  of  secretary  to  the 
lord-lieutenant  of  Ireland,  who  was  then  the  Marquis 
of  Wharton.  At  a  later  period,  he  visited  the  same 
country  again,  as  secretary  to  Sunderland,  who,  after 
a  fashion  more  common  in  church  than  state,  did 
not  trouble  himself  to  cross  the  Channel  in  the  dis 
charge  of  his  official  duty.  Johnson  expresses  won 
der,  that  Addison  should  have  connected  himself 
with  a  person  so  impious,  profligate,  and  shameless 
as  Wharton,  when  his  own  character  was,  in  these 
respects,  precisely  the  reverse  of  the  other's.  He 
appears  to  have  mistaken  the  father  for  the  duke,  his 
son,  who  was  so  notorious  in  connection  with  the 
Jacobite  party.  The  elder  was  no  saint  certainly ; 
but  his  character  was  light,  compared  to  the  utter 
darkness  of  his  son's.  Archbishop  King,  a  very  high 
authority,  says  that  he  had  known  Wharton  forty 
years,  and  always  considered  him  a  true  patriot,  and 
one  who  had  his  country's  interest  at  heart ;  no  small 
praise  for  a  statesman  in  any  age,  and  one  which,  in 
that  season  of  all  corruption,  it  was  a  special  honor 
to  deserve ;  so  that  Addison's  connection  with  him 
was  not  that  confederacy  with  sin  which  the  great 
critic  seems  to  have  apprehended. 

The  conduct  of  the  secretary,  in  both  these  mis- 


324  ADDISON. 

sions,  commanded  respect,  and  gave  general  satisfac 
tion.  But  here,  again,  Johnson  seems  to  intimate 
that  he  was  rather  avaricious  in  his  ways.  He  tells 
us,  on  Swift's  authority,  that  the  secretary  never 
remitted  his  fees  of  office  in  favor  of  his  friends,  giv 
ing  as  a  reason,  that,  if  it  was  done  in  a  hundred 
instances,  it  would  be  a  loss  to  himself  of  two  hun 
dred  guineas,  while  no  friend  would  be  a  gainer  of 
more  than  two.  Swift,  who  was  a  great  calculator, 
could  not  disapprove  such  exactness ;  and  it  should 
not  have  been  related  without  stating,  at  the  same 
time,  that  Addison's  revenues,  which  might  have 
been  very  great,  had  he,  like  other  secretaries, 
received  the  presents  offered  by  applicants  for  office, 
were  reduced  by  his  determination  to  take  nothing 
more  than  the  regular  fees,  so  that  his  income  was 
comparatively  small.  Archbishop  King  speaks  with 
great  respect  of  his  exemption  from  every  thing  like 
avarice  and  corruption  in  his  discharge  of  duty ;  a 
virtue  of  which  Ireland  had  not  seen  a  very  rich  dis 
play,  and  which  is  not  valued  in  proportion  to  its 
rarity  in  that  unfortunate  island  even  now. 

The  truth  is,  that  Addison  was  one  of  those  who 
care  less  for  appearance  than  for  reality  :  he  was  not 
disposed  to  be  generous,  if  that  would  make  it  im 
possible  for  him  to  be  just.  Unlike  some  other  men 
of  great  talent,  he  never  felt  as  if  his  genius  released 
him  from  the  obligations  of  common  honesty.  He 
would  have  despised  himself,  if  he  had  made  the 
flourish  of  doing  liberal  favors,  while  a  creditor  was 
suffering  or  complaining  because  his  debt  was  un 
paid.  The  knavish  repudiation,  which  is  so  often 


ADDISON.  325 

tolerated  in  great  men,  was  not  consistent  with  his 
regard  for  his  own  honor.     The  feeling  of  the  world 
with  respect  to  these  matters  is  one  that  brings  a 
snare.     So  long  as  an  eminent  person  is  present  to 
awaken  a  personal  interest  in  his  readers  or  his  party, 
they  forgive   him  this   lavish  freedom  with  money 
which  belongs  to  others ;   they  forbear  to  press  home 
that  charge  of  dishonesty  to  which  they   know  he 
must  plead  guilty.     But,  when  he  is  gone  from  the 
earth,  and  the  Egyptian  tribunal  sits  in  judgment  on 
the  dead,  that  impartial  court  assumes  as  the  law, 
that  he  should  first  of  all  have  done  justly ;   for  if, 
trampling  on  that  obligation,  he  professed  to  have 
gone  on  to  the  love  of  mercy,  it  must  condemn  as  a 
selfish  crime  that  indulgence  of  feeling  at  the  expense 
of  principle  ;  and  it  decides  that  the  crown  of  bene 
volence  and  generosity  shall  never  be  worn  by  the 
unjust,  and  that  a  man  who  is  not  honest  enough  to 
pay  his  debts  when  he  has  the  power,  however  highly 
he  may  be  gifted,  is  the  meanest  work  of  God.     Ad- 
dison  was  sometimes  very  poor  ;  he  was  never  rich  : 
his  circumstances  were  such  as  to  make  exactness  of 
calculation  a  necessity  as  well  as  a  virtue.     But  it 
is  idle  to  charge  with  avarice  one  who  resisted  temp 
tations  to  gain  wealth  which  he  might  have  yielded 
to  without  censure  from  others,  and  which  he  resisted 
simply  because  he  feared   the  censure  of  his  own 
heart. 

It  is  quite  evident,  that,  with  this  view  of  duty,  he 
must  have  been  often  troubled  with  the  reckless 
improvidence  of  his  friend  Steele,  who  cared  little 
how  or  from  whom  he  obtained  the  means  of  expen- 

28 


326  ADDISON. 

sive  self-indulgence,  and,  when  he  borrowed,  never 
associated  with  the  act  the  idea  that  he  must  after 
wards  pay.  That  Addison  was  kind  and  charitable 
to  his  follies  is  evident  from  their  long  attachment ; 
but,  when  the  revenue  of  the  nation  would  not  have 
been  sufficient  to  supply  Steele's  wasteful  profusion, 
it  would  have  been  as  thoughtless  as  unavailing  to 
put  his  own  living  into  the  hands  of  the  spendthrift, 
only  to  see  it  fooled  away.  There  are  but  few 
traces  on  record  of  their  dealings,  in  which,  of 
course,  the  borrowing  was  ah1  on  one  side  and  the 
lending  on  the  other  ;  but  that  Addison  lent  freely 
appears  from  a  remark  in  one  of  Steele's  letters  to 
his  wife,  in  which  he  says,  that  "  he  has  paid  Mr. 
Addison  the  whole  thousand  pounds."  At  a  later 
time,  he  says  to  her,  "  You  will  have  Mr.  Addison's 
money  to-morrow  noon." 

But  Johnson  has  embalmed  a  story  to  Addison's 
disadvantage,  of  his  sending  an  execution  into 
Steele's  house  for  a  debt  of  a  hundred  pounds, 
communicated  to  him  by  Savage,  which  has  ap 
peared  in  different  forms.  One  account  represents 
Steele  as  telling  the  story  with  tears  in  his  eyes  ; 
and,  if  these  had  no  other  source  than  their  mutual 
compotations,  all  such  embellishments  would  be 
easily  supplied  by  the  same  inspiration.  Another 
version  makes  the  sum  a  thousand  pounds,  and  says 
that  with  a  "  genteel  letter  the  balance  of  the  produce 
of  the  execution  was  remitted  to  Steele."  When 
Johnson  adopted  the  story,  it  was  so  inconsistent 
with  all  that  was  known  of  Addison,  that  the  world 
could  not  believe  it :  he  was  asked  to  give  his  au- 


ADDISON.  327 

thority  ;  there  was  no  other  than  that  of  Savage, 
which  he  knew  was,  if  high  in  his  estimation,  low 
enough  in  that  of  others ;  and,  instead  of  resting  it 
on  that  foundation,  he  said  it  was  part  of  the  familial- 
literary  history  of  the  day.  Now,  there  were  times 
when  Savage's  powers  of  hearing  and  speaking  were 
somewhat  confused  ;  he  may  very  easily  have  mis 
interpreted  some  hasty  suggestion  of  Steele's,  who 
at  times  labored  under  the  same  physical  infirmity, 
into  a  statement  of  what  had  actually  taken  place  ; 
and  one  must  have  an  accurate  knowledge  of  the 
circumstances,  at  least  so  far  as  to  be  informed 
whether  Savage  at  the  time  was  at  the  table  or  un 
der  it,  before  he  can  put  implicit  faith  in  a  tradition 
based  on  his  authority  alone.  If  the  story  is  true  in 
any  part,  it  is  rather  strange  that  it  did  not  interrupt 
the  friendly  harmony  of  the  parties,  which  it  certainly 
never  did ;  and  the  idea  suggested  by  Thomas 
Sheridan  was  undoubtedly  correct,  that  it  was  done, 
not  so  much  to  secure  the  debt  as  to  screen  Steele's 
property  from  other  creditors.  The  debt  was  real, 
without  question  ;  Addison  could  not  take  such  a 
step  in  collusion  with  Steele  without  giving  it  the 
aspect  of  an  underhand  proceeding,  where  fraud  or 
conspiracy  there  was  none.  As  this  solution  is 
perfectly  consistent  with  Addison's  character,  who 
had  not  the  least  severity  in  his  nature  to  lead  him 
to  such  painful  extremes,  we  should  receive  it  at 
once  as  the  satisfactory  explanation  ;  that  is,  if  any 
was  needed  beyond  the  circumstance,  that  the  brains 
of  both  Steele  and  Savage  were  often  rolling  in  those 
fine  frenzies  in  which  visions  become  reality,  and  the 


328  ADDISON. 

boundary  separating   fact   and   fiction   becomes  as 
variable  as  the  profile  of  a  wave  of  the  sea. 

Of  the  difficulty  of  ascertaining  any  fact  thus  told, 
and  therefore  of  believing  it,  we  have  an  illustration 
in  what  is  said  of  Swift,  who  must  be  prominent  in 
any  history  where  he  appears,  and  who  was  so  way- 
Avard  and  peculiar,  that  his  habits  attracted  more 
attention  than  those  of  other  persons  equally  high. 
Odd  enough,  in  all  conscience,  he  was  ;  but  this 
same  Sheridan,  in  his  biography,  has  represented 
him  as  making  his  appearance  at  Button's  coffee 
house,  then  the  resort  of  the  wits,  in  a  rusty  dress, 
with  a  rude  and  unsocial  manner,  and  a  freedom  of 
talk,  which,  if  it  did  not  transcend  all  propriety,  at 
least  hung  over  the  outer  edge.  These  peculiarities 
gained  him  the  name  of  the  "  mad  parson,"  a  title 
to  which  he  had,  probably,  a  more  serious  claim 
than  those  who  applied  it  were  able  to  discern.  The 
date  of  these  proceedings  was  somewhere  between 
Swift's  first  political  pamphlet  in  1701,  and  his 
"  Tale  of  a  Tub  "  in  1704  ;  and,  unless  the  relater 
of  the  story  could  plead  somnambulism  to  the  satis 
faction  of  the  great  jury  of  the  public,  there  was 
something  in  the  dates,  which,  if  challenged,  must 
have  sorely  "  plagued  the  inventor."  Addison,  who 
presided  in  these  merry  scenes,  was  all  this  while 
residing  quietly  in  Europe  ;  and  he  did  not  set  up 
his  servant  Button  in  this  establishment,  till  some 
time  after  his  return  at  the  close  of  1703  ;  so  that  it 
was  in  some  pre-existent  state  that  Button  and  his 
coffee-house  must  have  been  regaled  with  the  exploits 
of  the  "  mad  parson."  It  seems  a  pity  to  spoil  these 


ADDISON. 


3-29 


pleasant  stories  by  this  narrow  searching  into  their 
truth.  In  common  cases,  they  may  go  for  what 
they  are  worth  ;  but  where  a  great  man  is  charged 
with  inhumanity,  entirely  at  variance  with  all  that  is 
known  of  his  character,  there  seems  to  be  a  reason 
for  applying  the  test  of  circumstantial  evidence,  and 
figures  which  do  not  indulge  themselves  in  lying, 
but  on  the  contrary  sometimes  expose  the  careless 
ness,  to  say  the  least,  of  those  who  indiscreetly  use 
them. 

The  whole  history  of  Addison's  relations  with 
Swift  is  one  that  does  him  the  greatest  honor.  It 
was  no  easy  matter  to  keep  always  on  good  terms 
with  such  a  man,  whose  natural  disposition  was 
cynical  and  sarcastic,  and  who  was  wrought  up,  by 
his  strange  fortune  in  politics,  to  a  state  of  exaspera 
tion  against  all  mankind  ;  —  against  the  Whigs, 
because  they  had  not  prevented  the  necessity  of  his 
going  over  to  the  enemy  ;  and  against  the  Tories, 
because,  with  his  sharp  discernment,  he  saw  that  they 
disliked  while  they  flattered,  and  distrusted  while 
they  used  him.  He  was  not  blind  to  the  fact,  that, 
with  all  his  power  to  serve  their  cause,  he  had  no 
power  to  serve  his  own  interests,  which  he  had 
no  idea  of  disregarding.  He  fondly  persuaded  him 
self  that  he  could  do  much  for  others ;  but  it  was 
clear  that  he  could  do  nothing  for  himself;  and  he 
was  not  the  man  to  hold  a  barren  sceptre,  and  be 
content  with  the  gratification  of  vanity  alone.  This 
unsatisfactory  position  in  which  he  stood  soured  his 
temper,  which  was  not  originally  of  the  same  growth 
with  sugar-cane,  and  made  his  wayward  humor, 

23* 


330  ADDISON. 

where  he  put  no  constraint  upon  it,  about  as  much 
as  the  most  Christian  spirit  could  bear. 

We  have  an  example,  in  the  story  told  by  Pope, 
of  his  paying  him  a  visit  in  company  with  Gay,  and 
not  arriving  till  after  the  hour  of  supper.  Swift  felt 
it  as  a  reflection  on  his  hospitality :  he  therefore  cal 
culated  how  much  the  meal  would  have  cost  him, 
and  forced  each  of  them  to  accept  half  a  crown,  in 
order  that,  if  they  told  the  story  with  the  idea  of  his 
housekeeping  which  it  implied,  they  might  be  under 
the  necessity  of  reporting  themselves  as  the  subjects 
of  his  munificence  too.  There  have  been  many 
attempts  to  solve  the  problem  of  his  unhappy  his 
tory  ;  but  it  seems  to  us  there  can  be  no  reasonable 
doubt,  that,  in  these  eccentricities  of  life,  some  of 
which  were  so  painful,  we  see  the  approach  of  that 
insanity  which  clouded  his  fine  understanding  at  last. 
There  are  many  shades  of  this  unsoundness  of  mind, 
before  it  reaches  the  point  at  which  responsibility 
ceases.  Where  that  line  is,  and  when  the  wayward 
mind  passes  over  it,  can  be  determined  only  by  Him 
who  reads  the  heart.  There  are  many  cases  in 
which  it  would  be  consoling  to  believe,  in  spite  of 
modern  theologians,  that  demoniacal  possession  has 
not  yet  wholly  ceased  from  the  world. 

Considering  what  Swift's  character  was,  there  was 
something  remarkable  in  his  constant  respect  and 
attachment  for  Addison,  who  was  so  prominent  in 
the  opposite  party.  Addison  regarded  him  as  the 
first  writer  of  the  age ;  and  he,  with  the  greatest 
deference  for  Addison's  ability,  paid  a  still  more 
enviable  homage  to  his  acknowledged  virtues.  Even 


ADDISON.  331 

when  there  had  been  something  like  estrangement 
between  them,  on  account  of  politics,  he  wrote  to 
Stella,  "  I  yet  know  no  man  half  so  agreeable  to  me 
as  he  is."  When  Addison  first  went  to  Ireland, 
Swift  expressed  the  hope,  in  a  letter  to  Archbishop 
King,  that  business  might  not  spoil  the  best  man  in 
the  world.  To  Addison  himself  he  says,  that  every 
creature  in  the  island  who  had  a  grain  of  worth  ven 
erated  him,  the  Tories  contending  with  the  Whigs 
which  should  say  the  most  in  his  praise  ;  and,  if  he 
chose  to  be  king  of  Ireland,  there  was  not  a  doubt 
that  all  would  submit  to  his  power.  At  the  same 
time,  he  says,  "  I  know  there  is  nothing  in  this  to 
make  you  of  more  value  to  yourself;  and  yet  it 
ought  to  convince  you,  that  the  Irish  are  not  an 
uridistinguishing  people." 

When  Addison  was  in  England,  and  Swift  was 
daily  expecting  to  hear  of  the  predominance  of  his 
own  party,  he  wrote  to  the  Whig  secretary  to  learn 
whether  it  was  expedient  to  come  over ;  knowing 
that  he  could  trust  his  friendship  and  wisdom,  though 
on  the  opposite  side.  His  aim  appears  to  have  been 
a  prebend  then  held  by  South  ;  but  the  old  man, 
who  was  never  particularly  complaisant,  was  not 
disposed  to  die  in  order  to  oblige  him.  Addison 
was  also  consulted  with  the  same  sort  of  confidence 
by  Wharton,  who  Avished  to  hold  his  post  to  the  last 
moment,  and  not  resign  till  the  new  ministry  were 
likely,  if  he  delayed,  to  save  him  the  trouble.  But 
in  those  times  of  fierce  excitement,  when  the  nation 
was  stunned  by  the  fall  of  Marlborough,  it  was  not 
possible  for  a  man  with  Addison's  power  to  remain 


332  ADDISON. 

an  inactive  observer.  He  soon  began  to  write  in 
reply  to  the  "  Examiner,"  then  conducted  by  Prior, 
a  deserter  from  the  Whigs ;  and,  without  answering 
in  the  same  tone  of  abuse  which  Prior  employed,  he 
showed  how  easy  it  was  to  put  him  down.  Prior 
had  brought  forward  in  one  of  his  papers  the  letter 
of  a  solemn  correspondent,  who  recommended  the 
"  Examiner "  to  the  people  :  Addison  said  it  re 
minded  him  of  a  physician  in  Paris,  who  walked  the 
streets  with  a  boy  before  him  proclaiming,  "  My 
father  cures  all  sorts  of  diseases !  "  to  which  the 
doctor  responded,  in  a  grave  and  composed  manner, 
"  The  child  says  nothing  but  the  truth  !  " 

When  the  "  Whig  Examiner,"  in  which  Addison 
wrote,  came  to  an  end,  Swift  rejoiced  in  his  journal 
to  Stella  that  it  was  at  last  "  down  among  the  dead 
men,"  using  the  words  of  a  popular  song  of  the  day. 
Johnson,  though  of  the  same  party,  remarks,  "  He 
might  well  rejoice  at  the  death  of  that  which  he  could 
not  have  killed."  The  critic,  with  unusual  impar 
tiality,  goes  on  to  say,  that,  since  party  malevolence 
has  died  away  (it  is  pleasant  to  know  that  party- 
spirit  is  not  immortal),  every  reader  must  wish  for 
more  of  the  "  Whig  Examiners ;  "  since  on  no  occa 
sion  was  the  genius  of  the  writer  more  vigorously 
exerted,  and  the  superiority  of  his  powers  more  evi 
dently  displayed.  Swift  did  not  begin  writing  for 
the  '•  Examiner  "  till  Addison  had  ceased  from  the 
"  Whig  Examiner :  "  they  met  often,  and  with  mu 
tual  satisfaction  ;  but  on  some  points  there  was  neces 
sarily  a  reserve.  Swift  remarks  in  his  journal,  "  We 
are  as  good  friends  as  ever ;  but  we  differ  a  little 


ADDISON.  333 

about  party."  At  a  later  period,  "  I  love  him  as 
much  as  ever,  though  we  seldom  meet."  Early  in 
the  next  year,  he  speaks  of  their  never  meeting  ;  but 
in  the  autumn  he  records  that  he  supped  at  Addison's 
lodgings,  and  says  that  there  was  no  man  whose 
society  was  so  attractive. 

The  alienation  seems  to  have  been  wholly  on 
Swift's  side  :  it  arose  from  his  identifying  Addison 
and  Steele,  for  which  he  had  no  reason,  and  consid 
ering  the  former  as  laid  under  obligation  by  his  at 
tempts  to  save  the  latter.  It  is  clear  that  Addison 
had  no  concern  with  Steele's  contrivances  to  secure 
a  plank  for  himself  at  the  shipwreck  of  his  party :  he 
did  not  choose  to  talk  with  Swift  on  the  subject,  and 
the  successful  politician  was  wounded  by  this  re 
serve.  He  complained  that  Addison  hindered  Steele 
from  soliciting  his  services,  because  he  did  not  wish 
that  his  thoughtless  friend  should  be  obliged  to  a 
Tory  ;  while,  in  the  same  sentence,  he  says  that 
Addison  is  asking  his  good  offices  to  make  another 
friend  secretary  in  Geneva,  which  he  shall  use  his 
influence  to  do.  Even  so  it  is  with  the  jealous, 
ready  to  believe  impossible  contradictions.  He  re- 
senis  Addison's  unwillingness  to  ask  a  favor  for  one 
friend,  at  the  very  moment  when  he  is  asking  one  for 
another.  Truly,  it  must  have  required  all  Addison's 
wisdom,  or  rather  his  unconscious  integrity,  to  avoid 
giving  irritation  to  such  a  temper  as  this. 

Johnson,  speaking  of  Swift's  kind  services  to  Addi 
son  and  his  friends,  says  he  wished  others  to  believe, 
what  he  probably  believed  himself,  that  they  were 
indebted  to  his  influence  for  keeping  their  places ;  a 


334  ADDISON. 

form  of  expression  which  implies  that  the  doctor 
himself  did  not  put  implicit  faith  in  his  power.  But 
the  queen's  death  finished  that  overthrow  of  the  Tory 
party  which  the  quarrels  of  Oxford  and  Bolingbroke 
had  begun  ;  and  Swift,  losing  by  it  the  grant  of  a 
thousand  pounds  from  the  treasury,  which  he  sur 
rendered  multa  gemens,  retreated  to  his  deanery  in 
Ireland  ;  a  home  which  he  detested,  but  which  was 
the  only  preferment  that  the  ministers  dared  to  give 
to  a  person  of  such  unclerical  fame.  When  Addison 
went  again  to  Ireland,  as  secretary  to  Sunderland, 
that  nobleman,  who,  with  a  most  affectionate  indul 
gence  for  himself,  was  rather  unforgiving  to  others, 
desired  that  he  would  hold  no  communication  with 
Swift ;  but,  with  a  spirit  which  did  him  honor,  Addi 
son  chose  to  be  the  judge  of  his  own  society,  and 
refused  to  give  the  pledge  required.  There  is  reason 
to  suppose  that  they  met  in  Ireland,  though  nothing 
is  particularly  set  down  respecting  it ;  and  it  is  well 
known  that  they  corresponded  with  each  other  till 
the  death  of  Addison,  each  maintaining  the  greatest 
respect  and  regard  for  the  other.  Now,  obviously, 
no  man  was  ever  less  gifted  with  reverence  by  nature 
than  Swift ;  no  one  ever  had  a  sharper  eye  to  look 
through  the  follies  and  weaknesses  of  other  men  ; 
and  it  does  seem  to  us  that  his  profound  respect  and 
confidence  afford  a  better  testimonial  to  the  excel 
lence  of  Addison  than  volumes  of  mere  enthusiastic 
praise. 

While  the  Whig  party  was  shivering  in  the  wind, 
and  after  it  had  gone  down,  Addison  was  more  at 
leisure  for  literary  labors.  With  the  single  exception 


ADDISON.  335 

of  the  "  Whig  Examiner,"  and  some  not  very  com 
plimentary  notice  of  Sacheverel,  —  that  ridiculous 
creature  who  contrived  to  lift  himself  into  a  mo 
ment's  notoriety,  mistaking  it  for  fame,  —  he  does 
not  seem  to  have  concerned  himself  much  with  pub 
lic  affairs.  Meantime,  Steele,  who  had  great  activity 
of  mind  together  with  his  well-known  warmth  of 
heart,  and  was  not  without  that  ability  which  perpet 
ual  action  gives,  had  formed  the  plan  of  a  periodical, 
to  appear  three  times  in  the  week,  intended  to  contain 
observations  on  life  and  manners,  together  with  the 
usual  matter  of  newspapers.  From  its  novelty  it 
met  with  some  success  ;  and  Addison,  who  was 
then  in  Ireland,  accidentally  meeting  with  some 
numbers  of  it,  detected  its  author  at  once  by  a  re 
mark  which  he  had  himself  communicated  to  Steele, 
and  which  he  knew  was  not  likely  to  be  indigenous 
in  any  common  editor's  head. 

Steele  was  excellent  at  suggesting  all  manner  of 
plans ;  he  was  not  without  resources  himself,  and  he 
had  extraordinary  talents  for  securing  the  aid  of 
others,  and  saving  himself  that  labor  in  which  he 
never  delighted.  By  taking  the  name  of  Bickerstaff 
for  the  imaginary  editor  of  the  "  Tatler,"  he  attracted 
attention  ;  that  being  the  name  under  which  Swift 
had  lately  satirized  Partridge,  the  almanac-maker, 
to  death.  This  compliment,  as  was  probably  in 
tended,  secured  the  favor  and  assistance  of  the  dean. 
But  the  greatest  windfall  was  the  disposition  of  Ad 
dison  to  come  to  the  rescue  ;  and  surely  never  was 
there  a  channel  better  suited  to  make  public  those 
treasures  of  sharp  observation,  critical  remark,  and 


336  ADDISON. 

thoughtful  humor,  in  which  he  abounded  ;  and  which, 
if  not  published  anonymously,  and  in  this  light  and 
piecemeal  form,  might  have  been  entirely  lost  to  the 
world.  Steele,  who  was  never  deficient  in  good 
feeling,  was  glad  beyond  measure  when  he  found 
what  aid  he  had  the  prospect  of  receiving :  he  had 
no  jealousy  of  that  genius  which  he  knew  was  to 
make  such  overshadowing  eclipse  of  his  own.  In 
fact,  he  says  that  he  rejoiced  in  being  excelled ;  in 
fluenced  in  part,  doubtless,  by  a  regard  to  the  cir 
culation  of  the  paper,  the  profit  of  which  was  quite 
important  to  his  precarious  resources,  but  also  enjoy 
ing  the  honor  of  heralding  such  talent  as  that  of 
Addison.  and  claiming  that  gratitude  for  the  service 
which  the  world  was  ready  to  give. 

The  world  had  more  reason  to  be  grateful  for  the 
service  actually  rendered  by  these  publications,  than 
it  was  able  to  estimate  at  the  time.  Afterwards,  the 
change  of  manners,  which  they  were  so  instrumental 
in  producing,  evidently  appeared  to  be  a  signal  im 
provement,  as  well  as  a  much-needed  blessing.  The 
word  gentleman,  at  that  time,  was  a  word  without  a 
substantial  meaning  :  it  simply  denoted  one  who  was 
not  born  to  the  worldly  grandeur  of  nobleman,  ba 
ronet,  or  'squire.  Nothing  like  refinement  of  manners 
or  cultivation  of  mind  was  necessarily  associated  with 
it.  So  far  as  wigs,  red  heels,  and  similar  decorations, 
could  invest  one  with  the  aspect  of  civilization,  they 
were  faithfully  applied  ;  but,  though  the  faith  yet 
lingers  in  the  world,  it  is  a  mistake  to  suppose  that 
tailors  and  hair-dressers  can  make  a  gentleman  ; 
and,  after  all  those  decorations  were  put  on,  it  was 


ADDISON.  337 

felt  that  the  gilding  on  the  outside  of  the  platter 
could  not  supply  the  place  of  that  cleanness  within, 
in  which  it  was  so  wretchedly  wanting.     Not  much 
could  be  gained  by  the  teaching  of  foreign  masters. 
Louis  the  Fourteenth,  who  was  careful  never  to  pass 
a  chambermaid  without  raising  his  hat,  was  coarse 
as  sea-sand  in  the  substantial  reality  of  refinement  in 
the  domestic  and  social  relations;  and,  in  England, 
whatever  conventional  system  of  manners  might  be 
ordained,  the  barbarism  of  party  spirit,  intemperate 
excess,  and  licentious  indulgence,  was  perpetually 
breaking  through.     It  was  necessary  for  some  com 
manding  influence  to  be  exerted  strongly   enough 
to  lift  those  virtues  which  were  in  low  esteem ;  to  put 
fashionable  Vandalism  to  shame  ;  to  raise  the  woman 
above  the  courtesan,  the  flirt,  or  even  the  lady ;  and 
to  show  that  the  coxcomb,  like  Beau  Fielding,  the 
automaton  with  a  title,  or  even  coronets  and  orders 
without  heads  and  hearts  under  them,  were  poor 
varieties  of  manufacture,   compared  with   the  real 
man. 

It  may  have  been,  that  there  was  a  strong  feeling 
standing  ready  to  welcome  the  right  kind  of  re- 
formet.  The  beastly  excesses  of  Charles's  court 
must  have  produced  a  re-action  in  favor  of  decency, 
at  least,  if  not  of  virtue ;  and,  after  the  Revolution 
of  1688,  the  sovereign  did  not  encourage  rakes  and 
rascals  as  much  as  he  had  done  before.  Still,  though 
the  evil  of  immorality  did  not  show  itself  in  the 
highest  places  as  it  did  in  that  pandemonium  where 
such  low  bipeds  as  Sedley  and  Buckingham  held 
sway,  it  was  powerful,  and  prevailed  to  such  a  de- 
29 


338  ADDISON. 

gree  that  it  required  a  master  to  put  it  down.  The 
right  kind  of  reformer  is  one  who  understands  the 
nature  of  the  temptation,  and  the  way  to  approach 
the  heart.  There  are  many  who  lay  claim  to  that 
honorable  name,  and,  so  far  as  good  intentions  go, 
deserve  it,  who  resemble  engineers  laying  siege  to  a 
city,  and  beginning  their  operations  by  knocking  their 
own  heads  against  the  wall  which  they  desire  to  over 
throw.  This  promising  experiment  is  repeated  again 
and  again  by  the  reformers  of  the  present  day.  By 
reason  of  the  singular  firmness  of  that  part  of  their 
physical  system,  they  escape  the  consequences  that 
might  be  expected  to  follow,  —  which  is,  indeed,  a 
crowning  mercy ;  but,  when  tfiey  charge  others  less 
gifted  in  the  roof-tree  with  inhumanity  for  not  using 
the  same  battering-ram  in  their  warfare,  it  may  be 
well  to  show  them  that  there  are  other  means  of 
contending  with  evil,  less  violent  perhaps,  but  far 
more  likely  to  accomplish  the  purpose  ;  and  that  the 
head,  if  it  has  any  thing  in  it,  can  be  used  to  more 
advantage  in  a  different  way. 

Thus  Addison,  by  an  easy  and  graceful  adaptation 
of  his  suggestions  to  the  place  and  the  time,  gained 
an  audience  for  himself,  where  others  would  not  have 
been  listened  to.  He  improved  the  opportunity  to 
impress  lessons  of  wisdom  and  virtue  ;  and  he  pro 
duced  an  effect  much  greater  than  is  generally 
known.  However  little  the  world  of  that  day  was 
inclined  to  thoughtfulness,  it  was  intellectual  enough 
to  admire  his  ability ;  and,  when  men's  respect  was 
thus  secured,  they  could  not  treat  with  scorn  the 
instructions  of  such  a  master.  Thus,  thousands  who 


ADD1SON.  339 

would  not  have  paid  regard  to  mere  professional 
teaching  were  put  in  the  way  to  hear  of  religion  and 
duty,  and,  still  more,  to  see  the  pleasantness  of  tho^e 
paths  which  he  desired  to  have  them  tread. 

Steele  had  the  same  good  purpose  of  doing  some 
thing  to  raise  the  prevailing  tone  of  morals  and  man 
ners  ;  but  there  was  an  obvious  reason  why  he  was 
not  equal  to  the  effort,  inasmuch  as  he  must  needs 
have  commenced  the  enterprise  by  taking  heed  to  his 
own  way  of  life.  It  is  not  by  one  who  is  able  only  to 
supply  the  gossip  of  the  hour,  that  such  a  work  can  be 
successfully  done.  He  could  not  have  effected  much 
in  that  way,  without  his  more  powerful  coadjutor. 
But,  in  the  alliance,  his  knowledge  of  the  world  was 
not  without  its  influence ;  his  ways  of  life  brought 
him  into  acquaintance  with  all  sorts  of  persons.  This 
gave  him  that  knowing  air  which  is  so  generally  im 
pressive  ;  and,  as  the  intimation  was  held  out  that 
real  events  and  characters  were  alluded  to,  his  fami 
liarity  with  men  and  manners  made  him  formidable, 
since  it  was  certain  that  nothing  which  he  knew 
would  be  withheld  from  the  public  by  excessive 
caution  or  reserve.  His  short  narratives,  imaginary 
letters,  and  various  particulars  of  the  kind,  which 
have  now  lost  their  interest,  were  then  attractive  and 
exciting.  That  there  was  much  chaff  to  the  wheat 
is  certain  ;  still,  there  was  something  there :  and, 
even  now,  though  the  day  of  such  writings  is  over, 
those  who  have  any  love  of  common  sense  or  literary 
history  will  find  as  much  to  gratify  their  intellectual 
taste,  if  they  happen  to  have  any,  by  reading  the 
"  Tatler,"  as  in  dozing  away  life  by  lying  parallel 


340  ADDISON. 

with  the  horizon  on  the  ill-savored  heaps  of  George 
Sand,  and  all  that  unsanctified  crew. 

To  the  "  Tatler  "  succeeded  the  "  Spectator,"  a 
work  of  higher  order,  published  every  day,  and 
almost  entirely  abstaining  from  party-strife,  with  the 
view  of  making  more  elevating  impressions  on  the 
public  mind.  The  "  Tatler  "  was  commenced  and 
closed  without  Addison's  knowledge :  but  the  new 
paper  was  more  under  his  command ;  and  in  it  he 
distinguished  his  own  articles  by  certain  letters  which 
were  afterwards  well  understood.  Tickell  rather  su 
perfluously  says  that  he  did  so,  because  he  did  not 
wish  to  usurp  the  praise  of  others ;  Steele  insinuated 
that  it  was  because  he  could  not  without  discontent 
allow  others  to  share  his  own.  Johnson  quotes  this 
last  remark,  as  if  he  thought  there  was  cause  for  the 
complaint  which  it  implied  ;  but  why,  in  the  name 
of  reason,  should  Addison  surrender  all  the  credit  of 
his  own  labor  and  talent  to  another  ?  One  would 
think,  that,  after  having  done  so  through  the  whole 
existence  of  the  "  Tatler,"  and  having  in  that  way 
lifted  it  into  favor  and  circulation,  it  was  about  as 
much  as  one,  who  had  no  special  claim  upon  him, 
could  rightfully  demand.  And  we  should  like  well 
to  know  how  many  literary  men  there  are,  who, 
while  conscious,  as  he  must  have  been,  that  they  are 
the  life  and  soul  of  a  publication,  would  allow  others 
to  appropriate  all  the  profits  and  the  praise. 

Meantime,  it  may  be  well  to  state,  that  the  mean 
ing  of  the  Clio  Letters  was  not  known  at  the  time ; 
and  the  reader  of  the  day  had  no  means,  except 
internal  evidence,  of  distinguishing  one  writer  from 


ADDISON. 


341 


another.  Johnson  adds  to  this  a  disparaging  remark, 
which  he  might  well  have  spared,  saying  he  had 
heard  that  Addison  eagerly  seized  his  share  of  the 
income  of  the  "  Spectator."  He  does  not  give  his 
authority ;  probably  he  had  none,  more  than  popular 
report  or  conjecture.  But  it  would  be  difficult  to 
give  any  reason  why  Addison  should  be  counted 
avaricious  for  deriving  some  benefit  from  his  labor  ; 
and  Johnson  should  have  been  too  well  acquainted 
with  what  is  rational  and  right,  to  imply  such  a 
groundless  charge.  His  circumstances  were  not 
such  as  to  raise  him  above  the  necessity  of  this  exer 
tion  ;  and  it  does  seem  poor  and  unworthy  enough 
to  censure  him  for  doing  what  every  one  else  would 
have  done  in  his  place,  and  at  the  same  time  with 
hold  all  credit  from  his  generosity  on  the  former 
occasion,  when  he  did  what  not  one  man  in  fifty 
thousand  could  find  it  in  his  heart  to  do. 

The  "  Spectator  "  soon  gave  evidence  of  the  ad 
vantage  of  having  more  of  Addison's  interest  in  it, 
and  of  being  wholly  under  his  control.  He  excluded 
politics  almost  entirely,  that  pernicious  indulgence 
by  which  Steele  had  run  the  bark  of  his  own  fortunes 
ashore.  The  small  gossip  and  scandal,  allusions  to 
which  had  been  thought  necessary  to  supply  attrac 
tion  to  the  "  Tatler,"  were  thrown  overboard  without 
ceremony,  and  preparation  was  made  to  give  the 
"Spectator"  a  tone  serious,  earnest,  and  high.  It 
was  a  bold  undertaking ;  few  of  our  Dailies  would 
venture  quite  so  far :  but  the  great  master  who  had 
it  in  charge,  with  his  endless  variety  of  resources, 
was  able  to  make  it  popular,  and  at  the  same  time 

29* 


342  ADDISON. 

an  authority  in  his  own  age.  and  to  render  it  through 
all  future  time  a  subject  of  admiration  to  the  intel 
lectual  ;  —  alas  that  they  should  be  so  few  !  Those 
who  wanted  entertainment  were  refreshed  with  the 
Freezing  of  Words,  Shallum,  and  Hilpah,  not  to 
speak  of  Sir  Roger  de  Coverley,  perhaps  the  most 
refined  and  delicate  piece  of  humor  which  the  Eng 
lish  or  any  language  affords.  The  imaginative 
reader  was  delighted  with  the  "Vision  of  Mirza" 
and  similar  fancies,  playing  like  sunbeams  on  the 
solemn  field  of  duty  which  was  spread  out  before 
his  mind.  In  his  critical  papers,  his  object  is  not 
to  display  his  own  profoundness,  but  to  bring  his 
readers  into  sympathy  with  his  own  perfect  taste  ; 
and  he  treats  with  easy  and  familiar  grace  the  work 
before  him,  whether  it  be  the  grand  and  gigantic 
scenery  of  the  "  Paradise  Lost,''  or  the  charm  of 
simple  description  in  "  Chevy  Chase  "  and  the 
"  Babes  in  the  Wood."  Nothing  can  be  better  suited 
to  its  purpose  than  the  moral  and  religious  portion 
of  these  writings :  his  interest  in  the  subject  is  not 
got  up  for  the  occasion,  like  the  Catskill  cascade, 
playing  when  they  let  on  the  water ;  it  comes  like  a 
clear  stream,  flowing  from  a  deep  well-spring  in  his 
heart.  With  all  his  earnestness  against  the  Free 
thinkers,  who,  it  must  be  remembered,  were  unthink 
ing  scoffers,  ridiculing  what  they  did  not  understand, 
he  is  entirely  exempt  from  narrowness,  and  maintains 
that  kind  and  cheerful  bearing  which  religion  should 
always  wear. 

The  style  of  these  celebrated  papers  is,  as  every 
one  knows,  as  near  perfection  as  any  thing  ever  has 


ADDISON. 


343 


been,  —  artless,  unaffected,  transparent,  but  always 
manly  and  strong.  Like  Dryden,  he  followed  the 
example  of  Tillotson,  whose  discourses,  though  as 
sermons  they  are  no  great  things,  were  excellent  in 
their  unpretending  English  style,  illustrating  the  truth 
that  simplicity  is  the  best  of  graces,  and  retains  its 
attraction  when  ornament,  high  finish,  and  cumbrous 
decoration,  lose  their  interest  and  pass  away.  As  we 
intimated,  the  "  Spectator  "  is  not  so  much  read  at 
present  as  it  deserves.  The  present  age  abounds, 
more  than  it  is  aware  of,  in  various  literary  affecta 
tions.  The  muse  in  fashion  screws  her  countenance 
into  various  contortions,  and  "  looks  delightfully 
with  all  her  might ;  "  so  that  it  is  almost  impossible 
to  tell  what  her  natural  expression,  if  she  ever  had 
any,  may  have  been.  Possibly,  a  return  to  these 
writings  might  do  something  to  restore  the  modesty 
of  nature.  The  experiment  is  worth  trying,  at  least 
so  far  as  to  know  for  ourselves  whether  our  taste  is 
depraved  or  not :  if  we  can  take  pleasure  in  these 
quiet  and  unexciting  works,  we  may  have  reason  for 
confidence,  that,  both  in  literature  and  morals,  it  is 
still  in  harmony  with  that  which  is  good,  and  which, 
though  neglected  at  times,  will  never  lose  the  venera 
tion  of  those  fortunate  individuals  who  are  equipped 
with  a  mind  and  a  heart. 

The  "  Spectator  "  was  suddenly  brought  to  a  close 
without  consulting  with  Addison,  and  the  "  Guar 
dian"  established  in  like  manner,  without  the  con 
currence  of  the  person  on  whom  their  character 
depended.  But  he  was  not  the  man  to  be  offended 
by  such  want  of  attention ;  though,  under  the  cir- 


344  ADDISON. 

cumstances,  a  little  more  deference  to  his  judgment 
would  have  done  no  harm.  The  "  Guardian," 
though  not,  according  to  Swift's  wicked  expression, 
"  cruel  dry,"  was  of  a  graver  cast  than  its  prede 
cessors  ;  and  in  the  earlier  parts,  where  we  cannot 
trace  the  hand  of  the  master,  it  is  less  interesting  than 
the  others.  Still,  it  stands  high  in  comparison  with 
other  writings  of  the  kind,  with  the  exception  of  its 
own  ancestry ;  and  Addison's  part  in  it,  though  less 
humorous  than  his  former  efforts,  is  in  every  way 
worthy  of  his  fame.  Johnson  complains  of  its  occa 
sional  liveliness,  as  inconsistent  with  its  professed 
character  of  Guardian;  we  do  not  see  why.  There 
is  no  reason  why,  even  in  one  who  guards  the  public 
morals,  an  attempt  to  make  others  smile  should  be  a 
sin ;  and  even  if  it  were  not  quite  in  keeping  with 
the  profession,  still,  as  punishment  is  intended  for  the 
prevention  of  crime,  and  there  are  so  few  human 
writings  which  offend  by  reason  of  being  sprightly 
overmuch,  there  is  no  crying  necessity  at  present  for 
exacting  dulness  as  a  religious  virtue,  or  scouting 
pleasantry  as  at  war  with  the  best  interests  of  man 
kind. 

The  work  did  not  extend  beyond  two  volumes, 
not  from  want  of  favor  or  circulation,  but  because 
Steele,  with  his  usual  restlessness,  longed  to  be  en 
gaged  in  those  politics  from  which  Addison  withheld 
him,  and  in  which  he  was  sure  to  injure  himself, 
without  doing  service  to  any  party.  Later  in  life,  he 
involved  himself  in  a  world  of  embarrassment,  by  a 
wild  speculation  for  carrying  live  fish  to  market :  at 
this  time,  he  was  engaged  in  carrying  his  fish  to  the 


ADDISON.  345 

political  market,  where  he  succeeded  only  so  far  as 
to  bring  himself  into  near  acquaintance  with  the 
frying-pan  and  the  fire.  Shortly  after,  he  met  with 
an  unusual  measure  of  success,  not,  however,  in  con 
sequence  of  any  happy  arrangements  of  his  own, 
but  because  the  act  of  Providence  unexpectedly 
removed  the  queen  from  her  subjects,  who  were 
quite  ready  to  spare  her  to  the  skies.  It  is  matter  of 
surprise  to  us,  that  historians  do  not  set  down  the 
fact,  which  to  our  minds  seems  clear,  though  the  poli 
ticians  of  her  day  had  no  means  of  knowing  it,  that 
the  ascendency  of  Bolingbroke  and  Oxford,  and  the 
fall  of  Marlborough,  were  owing,  not,  to  use  Bur- 
net's  elegant  expression,  to  his  "  brimstone  of  a  wife," 
nor  to  spilling  a  cup  of  coffee  on  the  royal  gown,  but 
to  the  attachment  of  the  queen  to  her  exiled  brother, 
and  the  concurrence  of  the  Tory  ministry  in  her  wish 
and  purpose  to  restore  him  to  the  throne.  The  com 
munication  of  that  administration  with  the  Pretender 
can  now  be  fully  proved ;  the  living  actions  and  the 
dying  words  of  the  queen  leave  no  doubt  of  her 
accession  to  their  conspiracies ;  and  this  fact,  once 
established,  explains  many  things  at  which  the  world 
then  wondered,  and  which  on  any  other  theory  it  is 
hardly  possible  to  understand. 

It  was  the  agitation  of  these  political  factions  that 
brought  forward  the  celebrated  "  Cato,"  a  drama 
which  Addison  had  commenced  many  years  be 
fore,  which  he  had  labored  upon  during  his  travels, 
and  which  he  was  induced  to  finish  at  last,  not  from 
his  own  interest  in  it,  but  from  the  solicitations  of  his 
friends,  who  believed  it  might  have  an  effect  favora- 


346  ADDISON. 

ble  to  the  Whigs  in  those  doubtful  times  of  party. 
The  Tory  house  was  divided  against  itself:  the 
Whigs,  who  saw  in  this  another  pleasing  instance  of 
Satan  against  Satan,  took  courage  from  the  prospect 
of  their  fall.  The  queen,  too,  was  not  immortal ; 
and  her  habits  of  life  were  of  the  kind  not  favorable 
to  strength  of  purpose  or  length  of  days.  If,  as  Lu- 
can  says,  Cato,  unlike  the  gods,  was  more  inclined 
to  sympathize  with  the  weaker  party,  the  great 
Roman  in  England  at  the  time  might  have  been 
sorely  puzzled  to  know  which  way  to  lean.  In  fact, 
the  moment  the  play  was  published  and  acted,  both 
parties  claimed  "  Cato,"  not  so  much  because  they 
cared  for  Addison  as  the  author,  as  from  their  deter 
mination  to  appear  to  the  nation  as  the  champions  of 
the  free. 

Drury  Lane,  however  thronged  in  later  times,  cer 
tainly  never  witnessed  more  excitement  than  on  this 
occasion.  The  performance  was  then  in  the  after 
noon  ;  and,  dinner  to  the  contrary  notwithstanding, 
the  theatre  was  besieged  before  the  hour  of  noon. 
Steele,  who  had  undertaken  to  pack  an  audience, 
found  that  he  could  pack  the  whole  city  of  London 
without  any  sort  of  trouble.  Booth  established  his 
fame  in  the  part  of  Cato.  Bolingbroke  made  him  a 
present  of  fifty  guineas,  as  he  said,  "  for  defending 
the  cause  of  liberty  so  well  against  a  Perpetual  Dic 
tator  ;  "  in  which  that  versatile  personage  made  it  clear 
to  the  player,  that  there  were  actors,  not  trained  to 
the  boards,  who  were  infinitely  better  than  he.  The 
Whigs  were  not  to  be  outdone  in  that  way  :  they,  too, 
came  with  their  gifts  and  laurels ;  so  that,  according 


ADDISON. 


347 


to  Garth's  expression,  —  and  no  man  ever  said  any 
thing  better,  —  it  was  extremely  probable  that  Cato 
would  have  something  to  live  upon  after  he  died. 

But  there  is  one  thing  which  in  this  connection 
should  be  faithfully  remembered.  Johnson  has  thrown 
the  shadow  of  avarice  over  the  name  of  Addison,  by 
the  saying  which  we  have  before  referred  to,  respect 
ing  his  avidity  for  profits  and  praise.  Colley  Gibber, 
who  at  that  time  was  a  joint  patentee  and  manager 
of  Drury  Lane,  says  that  the  author  made  a  present 
to  him  arid  his  brethren  of  the  profits,  which  were 
neither  few  nor  small.  This  was  not  like  a  miser  :  it 
certainly  does  not  look  like  eager  avidity  for  money, 
to  give  up  so  freely  that  which  nothing  but  generosity 
called  him  to  surrender.  And  this  is  a  remarkable 
illustration,  showing  how  a  thoughtless  phrase  of 
a  biographer  may  fix  in  the  public  mind  for  ages  a 
false  impression,  though  many  striking  actions,  and  the 
whole  tenor  of  the  life,  show  to  those  who  examine 
the  subject,  that  it  must  be  the  reverse  of  true. 

Addison  does  not  seem  to  have  anticipated  much 
success,  if  any;  not  thinking  the  drama  suitable  for 
the  stage.  Dr.  Young  says,  that  Dryden,  to  whom 
it  was  submitted,  predicted  that  it  would  not  meet 
with  the  reception  which  it  deserved.  But  this  must 
refer  to  some  earlier  attempt,  or  to  the  part  which 
was  written  early,  certainly  not  to  the  finished  play, 
inasmuch  as  Dryden  had  left  the  stage  of  this  world 
at  least  a  dozen  years  before.  Pope,  however,  did 
express  the  same  opinion.  When  Addison  told  him 
that  the  "  Rape  of  the  Lock  "  was  a  delicious  piece 
as  it  stood,  and  advised  him  not  to  alter  it,  Pope 


348  ADDISON. 

ascribed  the  counsel  to  jealousy  on  the  elder  poet's 
part.  How  easy  would  it  be  to  attribute  this  advice 
to  Addison  to  unworthy  dread  of  Cato's  anticipated 
renown  !  Addison,  so  far  from  resenting  it,  only 
said  that  he  was  of  the  same  opinion,  but  that  he  had 
submitted  to  the  judgment  of  his  friends,  who  were 
importunate  to  have  it  appear.  He  certainly  hated 
the  labor  of  completing  it ;  he  said  that  he  should 
be  glad  to  have  some  one  do  it  for  him ;  but  when 
Hughes  rather  valiantly  made  the  attempt,  he  saw 
that  it  might  be  brought  to  an  end  in  good  earnest,  if 
left  to  an  inferior  hand.  Hughes  consoled  himself 
for  his  failure  by  writing  some  laudatory  lines,  which, 
according  to  the  usual  fashion,  were  afterwards  pub 
lished  with  the  play. 

There  were  several  others  who  took  the  same 
opportunity  of  shining  out  to  the  world.  Young, 
Tickell,  and  Philips  are  familiar  names ;  but  there 
were  others  more  questionable :  among  the  rest  were 
some  lines  left  with  the  printer,  which  Johnson  says 
are  the  best,  but  which  "  will  lose  somewhat  of  their 
praise  when  the  author  is  known  to  be  Jeffreys." 
There  has  been  a  question  who  this  individual  could 
be.  Some  have  supposed  that  it  was  the  judge  of 
that  name :  if  so,  he  was  more  just  in  letters  than  in 
law.  But  he  had  been  for  about  twenty  years  in  the 
other  world,  where  there  is  reason  to  suppose  that  he 
was  less  pleasantly  engaged  than  in  writing  poetry. 
The  person  in  question  was  a  much  more  harmless 
gentleman,  who  did  execution  on  literary,  not  human, 
subjects,  and  has  escaped  the  doom  of  everlasting 
fame. 


ADDISON.  349 

These  flourishes  of  adulation  were  not  to  the  taste 
of  the  author,  and  he  did  his  best  to  decline  them. 
In  a  letter  still  preserved,  he  endeavors  to  put  aside 
the  compliment  without  wounding  the  feelings  of  the 
person  who  sent  the  lines  ;  but,  as  it  was  not  so  easy 
to  avoid  the  honor  without  inflicting  pain  on  the 
writers,  he  submitted  to  the  necessity,  and  let  their 
little  wherries  sail  by  his  side.  But  there  was  one 
point,  where  his  honor  was  concerned,  on  which  he 
took  open  and  manly  ground.  He  intended  to 
dedicate  the  play  to  the  Duchess  of  Marlborough, 
who  was  then  fallen  from  her  height,  and  unable  to 
serve  his  interests  if  she  would.  It  was  not  pledged 
or  promised,  but  his  purpose  was  known.  Mean 
time,  the  queen,  who,  without  any  passion  for  litera 
ture,  desired  the  honor  of  patronizing  "  Cato,"  sent 
him  an  intimation  that  a  dedication  to  herself  would 
give  her  pleasure.  He  did  not  choose  to  take  the 
hint ;  and,  neither  to  compromise  his  own  indepen 
dence,  nor  to  offer  a  needless  affront  to  his  sovereign, 
he  sent  it  forth  without  a  dedication,  which  was  un 
common  at  that  day.  But  the  manliness  of  the 
proceeding  was  more  unusual  still,  when,  had  he 
been  so  disposed,  he  could  have  gained  favor  by  the 
attention,  and  silenced  all  objection  by  pleading  the 
royal  command. 

This  tragedy  has  been  a  subject  of  great  admira 
tion,  not  unmingled  with  bitter  censure,  which  falls 
harmless  because  it  only  charges  him  with  not  doing 
what  he  never  wished  nor  intended  to  do.  In  the 
desperate  feuds  between  the  partisans  of  the  classical 
and  romantic  schools,  every  writer  connected  with  the 

30 


350  ADDISON. 

one  must  needs  be  ridiculed  and  disowned  by  the 
other.  But  those  who  can  break  through  this  nar 
rowness  of  creeds  can  easily  see  that  these  are  matters 
of  taste.  There  is  no  reason  why  every  thing  should 
be  conformed  to  a  single  standard.  Addison  never 
pretended  to  be  Shakspeare  :  the  last  thing  in  his 
mind  was  to  enter  into  comparison  with  the  un 
rivalled.  His  classical  prepossessions  inclined  him 
to  side  with  the  French  ;  it  was  in  France,,  indeed, 
that  he  set  himself  seriously  about  the  play  :  and  the 
only  question  is,  whether  he  succeeded  in  what  he 
wished  to  do,  —  a  question  which  the  world  has  pretty 
decidedly  answered.  Johnson,  in  his  conversation, 
said  that  nothing  would  be  more  ridiculous  than  to 
see  a  girl  weep  at  the  representation  of  "  Cato." 
But  what  a  standard  is  this !  At  the  performance  of 
his  own  "  Irene  "  no  one  would  ever  have  cried,  ex 
cept  to  see  the  end  of  it ;  and  it  would  have  gone  hard 
enough  with  his  own  muse,  if  pathetic  interest  was 
so  essential  a  thing.  But  an  audience  may  be  very 
tolerably  entertained  without  going  to  the  extent  of 
crying.  With  all  his  variety  of  power,  Addison 
never  aimed  at  the  pathetic :  he  dealt  more  in  smiles 
than  tears*  It  is  rather  remarkable  that  he  could 
have  thrown  so  much  affecting  interest  round  the 
Stoic,  —  not  because  his  grand  and  solemn  bear 
ing  is  not  impressive  to  the  feeling,  but  because  the 
sympathies  of  audiences  and  readers  grow  accus 
tomed  to  their  familiar  courses,  and  such  is  not  the 
channel  in  which  they  are  expected  to  flow.  Though 
the  love-scenes  may  not  be  happily  conceived,  and 
the  tragic  interest  may  not  be  of  the  kind  most  in 


ADDISON.  351 

request  with  the  present  play-going  generation,  this 
work  has  a  full  testimony  to  its  excellence  in  the 
place  which  it  holds  in  the  memories  of  cultivated 
men.  The  fine  images  and  sentiment  in  which  it 
abounds,  as  Miss  Aikin  justly  remarks,  are  in  con 
stant  use  even  by  those  who  do  not  know  from  what 
source  they  drew  them. 

Dr,  Johnson,  for  some  reason  or  other,  has  tran 
scribed  a  great  part  of  Dennis's  criticism  on  "  Cato," 
which  drags  its  slow  length  like  a  snake  through  his 
pages.  It  deserves  attention,  not  for  its  justice, 
though  it  is  not  wholly  untrue,  but  for  its  opening 
the  way  to  that  ill-feeling  on  the  part  of  Pope  toward 
Addison,  which  has  done  more  than  any  thing  else 
to  mislead  the  reading  world.  This  ill-starred  critic, 
whose  chief  sin  seemed  to  be  an  utter  obtuseness  on 
the  subject  of  poetry,  had  previously  regaled  himself 
by  tearing  the  "  Rape  of  the  Lock  "  and  the  "  Essay 
on  Criticism"  in  pieces  with  his  savage  teeth.  This 
was  an  offence  which  Pope,  who,  like  sundry  other 
Christians,  performed  the  duty  of  forgiveness  in  a 
way  of  his  own,  made  a  point  of  resenting.  The 
time  was  come  when  he  thought  he  could  do  it  with 
a  better  grace  than  by  avenging  injuries  of  his  own. 
Accordingly,  under  the  profession  of  defending  Ad 
dison,  he  fell  upon  Dennis  in  a  coarse  and  personal 
lampoon,  which  was  bitter  enough  to  gratify  his  own 
spleen,  but  so  contrived  all  the  while  as  to  leave  the 
objections  to  "Cato"  unanswered.  Addison,  who, 
with  the  feelings  of  a  gentleman,  had  abstained  from 
all  reply,  did  not  choose  to  appear  as  confederate 
with  another  to  resent  the  injury  in  an  underhand 


352  ADDISON. 

way  ;  nor  did  he  feel  under  particular  obligation  to 
Pope  for  holding  him  up  as  a  shield,  while  he  in 
dulged  his  own  revenge.  The  low  character  of  the 
attack,  also,  was  one  for  which  he  could  not  be 
responsible  to  the  world,  He  therefore  said,  that 
he  could  not,  either  in  honor  or  conscience,  be  privy 
to  such  treatment ;  and  that,  if  he  did  take  notice  of 
Mr.  Dennis's  objections,  it  should  be  in  a  different 
way.  This  was  high-minded  and  honorable  ;  but  it 
showed  Pope  that  his  artifice  was  seen  through,  and 
that  his  coarseness  was  disapproved.  It  was  there 
fore  the  beginning  of  sorrows  ;  he  never  afterwards 
was  able  to  forget  or  forgive  it ;  and,  his  jealous  and 
irritable  feeling  having  been  thus  awakened,  every 
word  and  deed  of  Addison  was  perversely  misinter 
preted.  When  he  once  had  come  under  censure 
of  that  high  authority,  he  determined  to  break  it 
down. 

Pope  was  sufficiently  kind  and  manly  in  other 
matters ;  but  his  jealousy  amounted  to  disease,  wher 
ever  his  poetical  reputation  was  concerned  ;  and  it  is 
surprising  to  see  to  what  base  arts  he  descended  to 
spread  his  own  renown,  and  take  vengeance  on  all 
who  stood  in  his  way.  The  reply  of  Dennis  to 
Pope's  abominable  satire  was  a  letter  from  Jacob, 
the  editor  of  the  earlier  "  Lives  of  the  Poets,"  stating 
that  Pope's  life  had  been  submitted  to  the  bard  him 
self,  to  receive  his  improvements  and  corrections  ;  so 
that  he  had  endorsed  his  own  praises,  which  many 
would  gladly  do  for  themselves,  but  would  not  so 
willingly  appear  to  have  done.  The  same  underhand 
course,  by  which,  under  pretence  of  defending  "  Ca- 


ADDISON, 


353 


to,"  he  had  fought  his  own  battle,  was  resorted  to  on 
many  occasions.  In  the  "  Key  to  the  Lock,"  which 
is  known  to  have  been  written  by  himself,  he  insa 
tiably  endeavored  to  fix  the  attention  of  the  public 
on  a  work  which  was  already  sufficiently  admired. 
In  a  remarkable  paper  in  the  "  Guardian,"  he  pre 
tends  to  show  how  superior  Philips's  pastorals  are 
to  his  own;  at  the  same  time  giving  extracts  with 
comments,  which  make  them  ludicrous  to  the  last 
degree. 

But  his  most  singular  effort  of  self-applause  was 
the  publication  of  his  letters,  all  of  which  have  a 
labored  appearance,  as  if  written,  as  no  doubt  they 
were,  for  the  public  eye.  Johnson's  long  head  sus 
pected,  though  he  could  not  prove,  this  extraordinary 
juggle  ;  in  which  Pope,  finding  that  a  correspondence 
with  a  friend,  improperly  published,  had  attracted 
some  attention,  contrived  that  an  imperfect  collection 
of  his  letters  should  be  thrown  in  the  way  of  the  book 
seller  Curll,  who  had  no  delicacy  in  that  nor  any 
thing  else.  Accordingly  they  were  printed  ;  where 
upon  Pope,  pretending  to  be  greatly  aggrieved,  com 
plained  to  the  House  of  Lords.  Nothing,  of  course, 
was  done,  as  no  law  was  violated  ;  but  it  gave  the 
poet  the  opportunity  which  he  wanted,  of  publishing 
his  letters  in  full ;  and,  sure  enough,  they  appeared, 
so  industriously  fine,  so  nicely  spangled  with  fine 
sentiments  and  brilliant  figures,  as  to  bear  on  the 
face  of  them  the  assurance,  that,  if  written  in  the  first 
instance  to  individuals,  they  were,  in  fact,  addressed 
to  the  world. 

The  coolness  between  Addison  and  Pope,  and 
30* 


354  ADDISON. 

Pope's  revenge  in  consequence  of  it,  have  had  such 
an  effect  upon  the  reputation  of  the  former,  that  the 
matter  requires  to  be  examined  at  large.  It  is  at  the 
same  time  one  of  the  most  curious  problems  in  lit 
erary  history.  It  has  engaged  the  inquiring  attention 
of  many ;  among  others,  of  Sir  William  Blackstone, 
the  light  of  the  English  law,  who  summed  up  the 
evidence  on  the  subject,  but  pronounced  no  judg 
ment,  though  his  charge  leaned  evidently  in  favor 
of  Addison.  But  there  are  one  or  two  things  to  be 
considered,  to  which  he  and  others  who  have  dis 
cussed  the  question  have  not  paid  sufficient  regard. 
One  is,  that,  while  Addison  maintained  a  high  and 
dignified  reserve,  Pope  took  every  opportunity  to 
tell  his  own  story,  and  so  to  avenge  his  imaginary 
wrongs  ;  not  only  repeating  it  to  his  parasite  Spence, 
who  received  it  as  so  much  gospel,  but  by  immor 
talizing  it  in  the  portrait  of  Atticus,  —  one  of  those 
admirable  caricatures  which  no  one  knew  so  well 
how  to  draw,  and  which,  while  they  abounded  in  wit 
and  discriminating  satire,  were  deficient  in  nothing 
but  the  weightier  matters  of  justice  and  truth.  The 
other  thing  to  be  regarded  is  the  character  of  the  two 
men.  This  affords  strong  presumptive  evidence  on 
the  subject,  which  is  most  likely  to  have  been  unwor 
thily  jealous  of  the  other.  Was  it  the  one  whose 
reputation  was  established,  who  was  reverenced  to 
his  heart's  desire,  and,  what  was  more,  who  wrote 
anonymously,  and  rather  with  a  desire  to  serve  his 
friends  than  to  establish  his  own  fame,  and  whose 
high  standing  in  politics  also  gave  him  other  interests 
to  divide  his  attention  with  this  ?  Or  was  it  he 


ADDISON.  355 

whose  temper  was  so  irritable,  waspish,  and  easily 
excited,  that  he  spent  his  days  in  an  endless  quarrel 
with  poets  both  high  and  low ;  and  who  had  the  folly, 
driven  by  this  mad  jealousy,  to  embalm  in  rather  a 
filthy  preparation  the  memories  of  his  opposers,  who, 
but  for  this  satire,  which  injures  the  writer  more 
than  any  one  else,  would  have  died  and  been  forgot 
ten  in  a  day  ?  One  would  say  beforehand,  that  the 
latter  would  be  the  one  to  take  offence  and  bear 
malice,  and  so  accordingly  it  proved.  Had  it  been 
a  possible  thing,  Addison  would  have  lived  on  good 
terms  with  him,  and  he  did  so  as  long  as  it  was  in 
his  power. 

We  have  already  mentioned  the  attack  on  Dennis, 
and  Addison's  reprehension  of  it,  as  the  beginning 
of  this  disunion.  Dennis  always  declared,  that  Pope 
applied  to  Lintot  to  engage  him  to  write  against 
"  Cato ; "  but,  though  Dennis  probably  believed  it, 
there  may  have  been  some  mistake  in  an  application 
thus  received  at  second-hand.  But  the  next  source 
of  trouble  is  entirely  open  to  the  eye.  Pope,  having 
finished  his  first  draught  of  the  "  Rape  of  the  Lock," 
communicated  it  to  Addison  ;  telling  him  at  the  same 
time  of  his  purpose  to  introduce  the  Sylphid  ma 
chinery,  which  he  afterwards  did  with  so  much  suc 
cess.  Addison,  knowing  that  it  was  excellent  as  it 
stood,  and  that  such  alterations  were  generally  fail 
ures,  told  him  that  it  was  merum  sal,  a  delicious  little 
piece,  and  advised  him  to  leave  it  as  it  was. 

Warburton,  who,  learned  and  able  as  he  was  in 
some  things,  was  perversely  obtuse  in  others,  says 
that,  "  upon  this,  Mr.  Pope  began  to  open  his  eyes  to 


356 


ADDISON. 


Addison's  character."  Truly,  the  operations  of  open 
ing  and  shutting  the  eyes  were  strangely  confounded 
in  his  mind.  What  was  there  in  this  which  any  man 
of  sense  could  have  received  as  jealous  or  unkind  ? 
If,  after  the  poet  had  wrought  out  the  Rosicrucian 
machinery,  Addison  had  counselled  him  to  suppress 
it,  there  might  have  been  some  little  ground  for 
the  suspicion  ;  but  nothing  save  the  most  watchful 
jealousy  could  have  taken  alarm  at  the  wise  advice 
not  to  endanger  that  which  was  already  excellent,  by 
an  attempt  to  make  it  better.  Johnson  says  the 
same  thing :  he  admits  that  it  might  have  been  done 
reasonably  and  kindly  ;  and,  really,  nothing  can  be 
more  unmanly  than  the  attempt  to  find  a  cause  of 
quarrel  and  a  justification  of  bitterness  in  such  a 
harmless  affair.  Indeed,  it  seems  so  much  like  in 
sanity,  that  it  could  hardly  be  explained,  without 
looking  for  the  origin  of  the  difficulty  in  the  spirit 
of  party.  Pope,  who,  as  Johnson  says,  was  apt  to 
be  diffuse  on  the  subject  of  his  own  virtues,  pre 
tended  to  be  exempt  from  political  feeling ;  but  he 
was  intimate  with  the  detected  Jacobites,  Atterbury 
and  Bolingbroke,  and  it  is  now  well  known  that  he 
was  a  bitter  Tory  in  his  heart.  His  other  fancied 
causes  of  uneasiness,  then,  were  increased  by  this 
venomous  element,  which  poisons  every  heart  in 
which  it  dwells. 

Having  thus  opened  his  eyes  to  Addison's  charac 
ter,  without  that  illumination  which  would  have  been 
more  to  the  purpose  on  the  subject  of  his  own,  it 
was  not  long  before  Pope  was  to  receive  another 
similar  injury,  which  made  his  vision  still  clearer. 


ADDISON.  357 

He  had  undertaken  the  translation  of  the  "  Iliad,"  — 
not,  though  he  says  it,  by  the  advice  of  Addison  ;  for 
the  letter  to  which  he  alludes  does  not  bear  out  this 
assertion,  though  it  contains  strong  expressions  of 
confidence  in  his  ability,  and  of  interest  in  his  success. 
It  contained  an  intimation  which  may  have  been  dis 
tasteful  to  Pope,  who  so  studiously  disclaimed  any 
bias  from  party  spirit,  in  the  counsel  which  Addison 
gave  him  for  his  general  conduct,  not  to  content 
himself  with  half  the  nation  for  his  admirers,  when 
he  might  as  easily  have  them  all ;  but  with  this  excep 
tion,  if  it  is  one,  the  tone  of  the  letter  is  eminently 
kind.  Having  heard  that  some  of  Philips's  hard 
speeches  against  Pope  had  reached  the  sensitive  bard, 
Addison  called  on  him  to  assure  him  that  he  had  no 
sympathy  with  what  Philips  might  have  said  in  his 
dispraise. 

It  is  easy  to  see,  from  the  tone  of  Pope's  letters, 
that  he  feels  a  vexation  which  he  can  see  no  good 
reason  to  indulge,  or  to  avow :  conscious  that  he  was 
not  friendly  to  Addison,  he  amused  himself,  as  usual 
in  such  cases,  by  the  faith  that  he  himself  was  all 
amiableness,  and  that  Addison  was  an  enemy  to  him. 
But  he  found  it  easier  to  impose  on  himself  than  on 
others.  We  find  Jervas,  the  painter,  good-naturedly 
endeavoring  to  soothe  him  by  relating  Addison's  kind 
expressions  respecting  him,  and  his  desire  to  serve 
his  brother-poet,  when  his  party  had  re-ascended  to 
power.  Pope's  reply  is  clear  evidence  of  that  state  of 
mind  which,  not  wholly  content  with  itself,  is  still  less 
disposed  to  be  satisfied  with  others.  Whoever  has 
encountered  such  a  disposition  knows,  that  as,  in  feed- 


358  ADDISON. 

ing  cross  animals,  it  is  well  to  look  after  one's  fin 
gers,  every  favor  done  to  the  jealous  is  distorted 
into  an  injury,  received  without  thankfulness,  and 
answered  with  some  snappish  revenge. 

Addison  certainly  tried  hard  to  bear  himself  in  such 
a  manner  as  to  calm  down  those  unreasonable  suspi 
cions.  Pope  had  desired  him  to  look  over  the  first 
books  of  his  "  Iliad."  Addison  asked  him  to  dine 
with  him  at  a  tavern,  and  there  told  him  that  he  would 
rather  be  excused  from  it  at  that  time,  since  his  friend 
Tickell,  when  at  Oxford,  had  translated  the  first  book 
of  that  poem,  and  was  about  to  submit  it  to  the  world. 
Tickell  had  desired  him  to  examine  it ;  and  if,  at  the 
same  time,  he  should  do  the  same  service  for  another, 
it  might  place  him  in  a  delicate  position  between  the 
two.  Now,  in  common  cases,  there  could  be  no 
reason  for  this  caution ;  but  Addison  knew  his  man, 
and,  being  well  aware  how  hard  it  was  to  keep  the 
peace,  was  earnest  always  to  keep  to  the  windward 
of  every  affair  in  which  it  might  be  endangered. 
Pope,  however,  did  not  see  through  his  reasons :  he 
told  him  that  Tickell  had  a  perfect  right  to  publish 
his  translation,  and  he  to  look  it  over ;  but,  if  the  first 
book  was  thus  precluded,  he  would  be  glad  to  send 
him  the  second.  Addison  thus  found  it  impossible 
to  escape :  he  looked  over  it,  and  in  a  few  days 
returned  it  with  high  expressions  of  praise.  After 
wards,  when  Pope's  first  four  books  were  ready  for 
the  subscribers,  Tickell  published  his  first  book  ;  and 
this  appears  to  have  rekindled  all  his  former  suspi 
cion. 

But  why  had  not  Tickell  a  right  to  publish  his  frag- 


ADDISON.  359 

ment  ?  and  how  did  he,  by  this  proceeding,  cross  the 
path  of  one  who  was  so  far  before  him  ?  Besides,  if 
it  were  wrong,  why  was  Addison  to  answer  for  it  ? 
Though  Tickell  was  his  friend,  Addison  did  not  keep 
him  in  leading-strings,  nor  feed  him  with  a  spoon. 
The  truth  of  the  matter  was,  that  Addison,  when 
solicited  to  give  his  opinion,  had  said  that  both  were 
good,  but  that  Tickell's  had  more  of  the  Greek  :  this 
was  doubtless  his  opinion,  and  there  was  no  dispa 
ragement  to  Pope  in  declaring  it.  But  it  so  happened 
that  this  was  the  very  point  in  which  Pope  was  con 
scious  that  he  was  wanting.  When  he  commenced 
the  work,  he  was  so  oppressed  with  the  difficulty 
thence  arising,  that  "  he  wished  somebody  would 
hang  him ; "  and  the  literary  world  are  tolerably 
unanimous  in  the  opinion,  that,  however  pleasing  his 
"  Iliad "  is  in  itself,  there  is  something  quite  too 
modern  about  it  to  give  much  idea  of  the  original.  It 
is  like  the  statues  of  Louis  the  Fourteenth,  in  which, 
though  he  wore  the  classical  drapery,  he  always 
insisted  on  retaining  the  Parisian  wig.  A  scholar, 
like  Addison,  would  be  likely  to  feel  this  want  of  the 
Homeric  simplicity ;  and  why  he  should  be  rigidly 
silent  on  the  subject  it  is  not  easy  to  understand, 
when,  at  the  same  time,  he  awarded  the  translation 
the  full  measure  of  praise  which  it  deserved. 

There  is  no  doubt,  however,  that  Pope,  all  the 
while,  believed  Addison  himself  to  be  the  translator 
of  the  first  book,  which  had  appeared  in  Tickell's 
name.  He  did  not  say  this  while  Addison  was  liv 
ing;  then  it  could  have  been  easily  disproved  ;  but 
he  was  himself  so  much  given  to  artifice  and  strata- 


360  ADDISON. 

gem,  that  he  easily  suspected  it  in  others.  He  says; 
in  a  letter  to  Addison,  "  I  shall  never  believe  that  the 
author  of  l  Cato '  can  say  one  thing,  and  think  an 
other."  And  yet  it  is  plain  that  he  did  so  believe  : 
these  words  are  ample  proof  that  he  did ;  for  he  evi 
dently  meant  to  hint,  that  the  writer  of  the  high  sen 
timents  of  the  tragedy  should  be  above  deception  in 
matters  of  ordinary  life.  But  it  might  have  been 
well  for  him  to  consider  what  was  implied  in  this 
charge.  It  accused  Addison  of  falsehood,  repeated 
again  and  again.  Addison  had  told  him  that  the 
work  was  Tickell's  j  now,  if  it  was  his  own,  there 
was  no  reason  why  he  should  not  say  so ;  he  was 
under  no  obligation  to  refrain  from  doing  a  thing, 
because  Pope  had  done  it  before  him.  So  far  from 
operating  to  the  prejudice  of  Pope's  interests,  it  went 
forth  to  the  world  with  a  declaration  that  it  was  not 
to  be  continued,  because  the  work  was  already 
executed  by  an  abler  hand.  Supposing  that  Addi 
son  would  stoop  to  prevaricate,  —  and  the  whole 
tenor  of  his  life  made  such  a  thing  incredible,  —  how 
was  any  one  in  his  senses  to  believe  that  he  did  so 
without  any  inducement  whatever  ?  No  man  lies, 
without  something  to  fear,  or  something  to  gain  by 
it.  The  process  has  no  delight  in  itself  to  give  it 
attraction.  But  such  was  Pope's  absurd  exaggera 
tion  of  the  importance  of  his  own  undertakings,  that 
he  was  able  to  work  himself  into  the  monstrous 
belief  of  Addison's  manoeuvring  thus  disgracefully 
in  this  matter,  where  he  could  have  nothing  to  hope 
for  and  nothing  to  dread. 

But  the  reader  may  ask  if  there  was  no  evidence 


ADDISON.  361 

upon  which  to  ground  these  suspicions.  If  he  is  not 
familiar  with  the  subject,  he  will  be  rather  surprised 
to  learn,  that  there  is  nothing  whatever  but  a  remark 
of  Dr.  Young,  who,  when  he  heard  that  the  transla 
tion  was  written  at  Oxford,  said  that  he  was  there 
well  acquainted  with  Tickell,  who  communicated  his 
writings  to  him,  and  he  thought  it  strange  that  he 
should  have  been  silent  in  respect  to  such  an  under 
taking.  This  negative  testimony  certainly  does  not 
amount  to  much :  it  was  possible  that  Tickell  might 
have  been  so  employed,  without  making  it  known  to 
his  friends.  It  was  possible  that  Addison  might  have 
been  mistaken  in  the  impression  that  it  was  written 
at  Oxford.  But  really,  if  one  man  is  to  be  charged 
with  falsehood,  because  another  man  has  no  other 
means  than  his  word  of  knowing  what  he  says  to  be 
true,  a  great  mortality  of  human  reputations  must 
follow  the  application  of  a  standard  so  severe.  Miss 
Aikin  has  had  access  to  the  Tickell  papers,  which 
are  still  carefully  preserved ;  and  among  them  is  a 
letter  from  Dr.  Young  on  the  subject  of  this  transla 
tion,  treating  it  as  Tickell' s  own ;  telling  him  that 
Pope's  is  generally  preferred,  but  that  his  is  allowed 
to  be  excellent,  and,  he  has  no  doubt,  will  at  last  be 
able  to  carry  the  day. 

Those  papers  show  also,  that,  instead  of  this  first 
book  of  the  "  Iliad"  having  been  translated  out  of 
hostility  to  Pope,  Tickell  had  made  arrangements 
with  a  bookseller  to  translate  and  publish  the  whole. 
The  very  preface  prepared  for  it  is  still  in  existence, 
containing  judiciously  formed  principles  on  which  he 
had  intended  to  proceed.  Spence,  who  was  not  the 
31 


362  ADDISON. 

wisest  of  mankind,  said  that  he  was  confirmed  in 
the  impression  that  Addison  wrote  it,  by  the  circum 
stance  that  Tickell  once  had  an  opportunity  of  deny 
ing  it,  which  he  did  not  improve.  But  it  must  be 
remembered,  that  no  one  ventured  to  bring  the  charge 
in  Addison's  lifetime ;  that  Tickell,  who,  according 
to  Spence  himself,  was  a  very  "  fair  and  worthy 
man,"  could  not  have  been  aware  that  such  a 
calumny  was  spread ;  and  that,  if  any  one  had  asked 
him  whether  he  had  engaged  in  a  fraud  to  act  the 
liar's  part,  he  might  have  been  likely  to  withhold  a 
reply  to  an  application  so  elegantly  presented.  Old 
D'Israeli,  whose  researches  were  sometimes  as  valu 
able  as  his  son's  novels  are  worthless,  —  and  human 
laudation  can  no  farther  go,  —  not  having  seen  the 
Tickell  papers,  believed  what  Wharton  endeavored 
to  prove.  But,  even  in  the  absence  of  all  external 
testimony,  it  is  hard  to  conceive  how  any  one  can 
believe  that  a  man  so  exemplary  as  Addison  would 
engage  in  a  wretched  lying  conspiracy,  by  which  no 
earthly  purpose,  not  even  that  of  injury  to  Pope,  had 
he  desired  it,  could  possibly  have  been  answered. 

There  was  but  one  other  thing  which  Pope  could 
allege  in  justification  of  his  bitter  feeling  towards 
Addison.  It  seems  that  Gildon  had  written  a  life  of 
Wycherley,  in  which  he  abused  Pope  and  his  rela 
tions;  and  Pope  says  young  Lord  Warwick  told 
him  that  Addison  had  encouraged  Gildon  to  write 
the  scandal,  and  afterwards  paid  him  ten  guineas  for 
doing  it.  Blackstone  sets  down  this  story  as  utterly 
incredible,  so  inconsistent  is  it  in  every  respect  with 
the  character  of  Addison.  It  is  quite  possible,  that, 


ADDISON.  368 

wh<5n  Gildon's  work  was  presented  to  him,  he  may, 
before  reading  it,  have  given  something  to  the  author 
as  matter  of  charity ;   but  it  is  nonsense,  on  such  an 
account,  to  hold  him  responsible  for  what  the  work 
contained.      Here,   again,   what  could  he   gain  by 
such  a  proceeding  ?     There  was  nothing  but  malice 
to  be  gratified  in  any  such  way ;  and,  if  he  ever  had 
any  malignity,  he  succeeded  better  in  keeping  it  to 
himself  than  is  usual  with  the  sons  of  men.    Besides, 
if  a  man  of  his  high  standing  could  have  descended 
to  such  a  measure,  is  it  likely  that  he  would  have 
deposited  the  secret  in  a  pudding-bag  of  a  boy  ? 
There  is  often  in  such  hopeful  youths  a  good  portion 
of  thoughtless  malice ;   even  if  one  of  them  should 
lie,  it  is  not  a  thing  wholly  without  example :   but, 
whatever  the  young  lord's  communication  may  have 
been,  we  have  only  Pope's  version  of  it,  who  pro 
bably  was  not  in  the  best  state   to  understand  or 
remember  it  as  it  was;   for,  according  to  his  own 
account,  he  sat  down  and  wrote  a  violent  letter  to 
Addison,  charging  him  with  dirty  ways,  and,  among 
other  insults,  painting  the  character  of  Atticus  as  it 
was  first  written.    To  this  precious  missive,  Addison, 
who  doubtless  perceived  that  it  was  impossible  to  be 
at  peace  with  such  a  person,  never  deigned  a  reply. 
Pope  says  that  he   "  used  him  civilly  ever  after," 
which   is  more  than  most  men  would  have  done. 
No  thoughtful  and  unprejudiced  person  will  think 
that  Addison  ought  to  have  cleared  himself  from 
such  imputations ;   for  what  is  character  worth,  if  it 
will  not  shield  its  possessor  from  such  aspersions  as 
this  ? 


364  ADDISON. 

That  part  of  this  unfortunate  history  which  *has 
been  most  injurious  to  the  memory  of  Addison  is  the 
account  of  a  last  interview  with  Pope,  said  to  have 
been  arranged  by  their  mutual  friends,  when  Pope 
expressed  a  wish  to  hear  his  own  faults,  and  spoke 
as  if  he  did  not  feel  that  he  had  been  himself  the 
aggressor.  It  is  said  that  Addison  was  so  trans 
ported  with  passion,  that  he  accused  Pope  of  upstart 
vanity,  and  reminded  him  that  he  had  been  under 
the  greatest  literary  obligation  to  him,  giving  as  an 
instance  a  line  in  the  "  Messiah,"  which  he  had 
essentially  improved.  After  some  words  of  contempt 
for  Pope's  "  Homer,"  he  concluded,  in  a  "  low,  hol 
low  voice  of  feigned  temper,"  with  advice  to  Pope 
to  be  more  humble,  if  he  wished  to  appear  well  to 
the  world.  Pope  retorted  in  the  like  strain,  abusing 
Addison  for  his  jealousy  of  the  merit  of  others,  and 
similar  failings ;  and,  after  this  exchange  of  confec 
tionery,  the  two  poets  departed  in  peace,  to  meet  no 
more. 

Internal  evidence  alone  would  show  that  this  must 
have  been  a  poor  fabrication.  The  benevolent  fa 
shion  in  which  the  interview  was  conducted  was  not 
strictly  Addisonian ;  and  the  favor  with  which  he 
upbraided  Pope,  that  of  spoiling  a  very  good  line  of 
the  "  Messiah,"  was  not  enough  to  put  the  younger 
poet  under  bonds  of  gratitude  to  the  end  of  time. 
If  he  had  wished  to  insist  on  this  point,  he  might 
have  referred  to  all  he  had  written  in  favor  of  Pope, 
as  affording  a  less  questionable  claim  upon  his  grate 
ful  feeling.  But  it  is  needless  to  dwell  on  this  ;  for 
no  one  can  doubt,  that,  had  there  been  a  word  of 


ADDISON.  365 

truth  in  this  story,  Pope  would  not  have  said,  some 
time  before,  that  Addison  "  used  him  civilly  ever 
after ;  "  and  as  Pope  was  careful,  in  his  conversa 
tions  with  Spence,  to  give  all  his  causes  of  complaint 
against  Addison,  with  perhaps  a  trifle  over,  he  must 
have  been  loud  and  long  on  the  subject  of  such  a 
memorable  passage,  had  it  ever  occurred. 

But  the  story  was  not  manufactured  till  after  he 
was  in  the  dust.  After  his  death,  appeared  a  "  Life 
of  Pope,"  without  any  publisher's  name,  but  pur 
porting  to  be  written  by  William  Ayre,  Esq.  and  to 
contain  facts  drawn  from  "  original  manuscripts,  and 
the  testimony  of  persons  of  honor."  D'Israeli  calls 
it  a  "  huddled  compilation,"  which  appeared  in  "  a 
suspicious  form."  Probably  there  was  truth  in  speak 
ing  of  the  information  as  original,  if  much  of  it  was 
like  the  story  related  above.  It  occasioned  some 
remark  when  it  first  appeared,  and  was  openly 
ascribed  to  Curll,  who  was  no  doubt  the  person  of 
honor  in  question,  and  whose  honor  was  so  well 
established,  that  nothing  could  gain  credit  for  a  mo 
ment  which  rested  on  his  testimony  alone.  He  was 
in  the  habit  of  publishing  these  "  Lives,"  containing 
large  measures  of  "  original "  information,  drawn 
from  conversation  in  coffee-houses,  and  other  un 
questionable  sources,  not  to  speak  of  the  invention  of 
the  writer ;  and  from  this  latter  source  must  have 
come  this  narrative  of  the  last  farewell  of  Pope  and 
Addison,  concerning  which  D'Israeli  innocently  says, 
"  Where  he  obtained  all  these  interesting  particulars 
I  have  not  yet  discovered." 

One  of  the  most  curious  illustrations  of  Pope's 
31* 


366  ADDISON. 

state  of  mind,  and  one  which  shows  the  extravagance 
of  his  peculiar  feeling,  is  what  he  said  to  Spence 
respecting  Addison's  sacred  poems,  —  those  beauti 
ful  lyrics  which  have  all  the  spiritual  grace  of  earnest 
devotion,  together  with  a  sweetness  of  language  and 
measure  which,  unfortunately,  is  seldom  found  in 
Christian  hymns.  Tonson,  having  some  pique  against 
Addison,  said  that,  when  he  wrote  them,  he  intended 
to  take  orders  and  obtain  a  bishopric.  But  Tonson 
honestly  gave  the  reason  of  this  very  natural  surmise  : 
it  was,  "  I  always  thought  him  a  priest  in  his  heart." 
Jacob  could  not  conceive  of  a  man's  writing  hymns, 
and  feeling  the  spirit  of  devotion,  without  something 
to  gain  by  the  operation  ;  and  his  result  was  obtained 
simply  by  putting  two  and  two  together,  not  because 
there  was  any  external  reason  for  the  suspicion  in 
any  rational  mind.  Johnson  admits,  that  Pope's 
thinking  this  notion  of  Tonson's  worth  preserving  is 
a  proof  that  some  malignity,  growing  out  of  their 
former  rivalry,  lingered  in  his  heart ;  for,  as  he  says, 
"  Pope  might  have  reflected  that  a  man  who  had 
been  secretary  of  state  to  Sunderland  knew  a  nearer 
way  to  a  bishopric  than  by  defending  religion  or 
translating  the  Psalms."  He  might  also  have  said, 
as  Pope  was  well  aware,  that  King  David  himself, 
had  he  been  extant,  might  have  sung  himself  to  ever 
lasting  bliss,  before  he  would  have  reached  an  English 
mitre  by  the  force  of  piety  and  inspiration  alone. 

To  the  same  source,  without  doubt,  may  be  traced 
the  impression  that  Addison  was  given  to  excess  in 
wine  ;  for  not  an  intimation  of  the  kind  can  be  found 
in  any  authority  save  that  of  Spence,  who  was  the 


ADDISON, 


367 


retailer  of  all  Pope's  uncharitable  suspicions.  He 
said  that  Addison  kept  late  hours  with  his  friends  at 
taverns :  but  he  does  not  charge  him  with  excess ; 
and,  when  we  know  the  prevailing  habits  of  gentle 
men  of  that  day,  such  a  practice  does  not  imply  by 
any  means  what  it  would  now.  It  was  the  usual 
way  in  which  they  associated  with  their  familiar 
companions.  We  may  see,  that  even  so  late  as 
Boswell's  time,  more  than  half  a  century  after,  the 
same  custom  prevailed  in  London,  and  was  not  then 
inconsistent  with  propriety  and  good  morals,  though 
it  would  be  differently  regarded  now.  Swift  writes 
to  Colonel  Hunter,  —  "Sometimes  Mr.  Addison  and 
I  steal  to  a  bottle  of  bad  wine,  and  wish  for  no  third 
person  but  you,  who,  if  you  were  with  us,  would 
never  be  satisfied  without  three  more."  This  pas 
sage,  which  applies  more  directly  to  the  question  than 
any  other  recorded,  implies  that  he  was  not  a  slave, 
nor  even  inclined,  to  excess.  We  find,  too,  that  he 
was  in  the  habit  of  retiring  from  this  cheerful  society 
to  the  solitude  of  country  lodgings,  as  more  suited 
to  his  labors,  and  more  congenial  with  his  taste. 

The  disease  under  which  he  suffered,  and  of  which 
he  died,  the  asthma,  was  not  such  as  intemperance 
brings  on.  In  the  "  Spectator,"  he  speaks  of  this 
habit  in  a  manner  which  it  does  not  seem  credible 
he  should  have  adopted,  if  he  could  have  been  re 
proached  with  the  transgression  which  he  so  earnestly 
condemned.  Johnson  maintains,  what  he  had  found 
in  Spence,  that  Addison  sat  late  in  taverns,  and  drank 
too  much  wine  ;  but  he  also  says,  that  Addison's  pro 
fessions  and  practice  could  not  have  been  much  at 


368  ADDISON. 

variance,  since,  though  he  passed  his  life  in  a  storm 
of  faction,  and  was  formidable  for  his  activity  and 
conspicuous  for  his  station,  his  enemies  never  contra 
dicted  the  character  that  was  given  of  him  by  his 
friends;  and  he  retained  the  reverence,  if  not  the 
love,  of  those  who  were  opposed  to  him  and  his 
party.  Moreover,  the  same  great  critic  says,  that  he 
dissipated  the  prejudice  which  had  long  connected 
gayety  with  vice,  and  easy  manners  with  looseness 
of  principle  ;  he  restored  morality  to  its  dignity,  and 
taught  virtue  not  to  be  ashamed.  This  is  an  eleva 
tion  of  character  above  all  Greek,  above  all  Roman 
fame.  Though  we  are  singularly  deficient  in  all 
information  respecting  the  familiar  manners  of  a  per 
son  so  distinguished,  these  terms  are  not  descriptive 
of  the  influence  and  character  of  an  intemperate 
man ;  and,  since  there  is  no  shadow  of  authority  to 
charge  him  with  excess  save  that  of  Spence,  and  his 
information  was  derived  from  Pope,  who  cherished 
hatred  and  horror  for  the  "  little  senate  at  Button's," 
we  shall  hold  ourselves  excused  from  believing  it, 
balancing  the  general  character  of  Addison  against 
the  unsustained  aspersions  of  an  angry  foe. 

We  do  not  think  it  necessary  to  dwell  at  length  on 
the  story  said  to  have  been  told  by  Voltaire,  of  his 
having  dined  in  company  with  Addison  when  in 
England,  and  left  him  in  a  state  of  intoxication  which 
was  painful  to  see.  Voltaire  may  have  said  it,  for 
he  was  not  very  choice  in  his  asseverations  ;  but 
there  is  a  difficulty  in  the  way  of  believing  it,  arising 
from  the  fact  that  he  did  not  visit  England  till  1726, 
and  Addison  died  five  years  before.  It  is  clear  that 


ADDISON.  369 

he  was  not  in  the  company  of  Addison  while  living : 
whether  he  has  fallen  in  with  him  since,  we  have  no 
means  of  ascertaining. 

It  is  singular,  and  not  very  creditable  to  Pope, 
that  every  story  which  has  ever  been  told  to  the  dis 
advantage  of  Addison  proceeds  from  him,  and  is 
based  on  his  authority  alone.  It  is  from  him  we 
learn,  that  Addison,  when  he  was  secretary  to  the 
regency,  was  called  upon  to  write  notice  to  Hanover 
that  the  queen  was  dead.  "  To  do  this,"  says  John 
son,  "  would  not  have  been  difficult  for  any  man  but 
Addison,  who  was  so  overwhelmed  by  the  greatness 
of  the  event,  and  so  distracted  by  the  choice  of 
expressions,  that  the  lords,  who  could  not  wait  for 
the  niceties  of  criticism,  called  Mr.  Southwell,  clerk 
of  the  house,  and  ordered  him  to  despatch  the  mes 
sage."  Now,  though  Addison  used  Pope  "  civilly 
ever  after  "  their  alienation,  it  does  not  seem  likely 
that  he  would  have  gone  to  him  with  this  auricular 
confession.  Besides,  it  gives  the  impression  that  the 
queen's  death  took  them  all  by  storm  ;  yet  the  lords 
justices  were  appointed  after  her  death  by  the  coun 
cil,  and  they,  at  their  meeting,  had  chosen  Addison 
their  secretary,  and  notified  him  of  his  election ;  so 
that  he  had  ample  time  to  recover  from  the  shock 
of  that  affliction,  which,  as  it  restored  the  ascen 
dency  of  his  own  party,  was  not  likely  to  break  his 
heart.  It  also  appears,  that  the  Earl  of  Dorset  was 
the  living  letter  sent  over  to  announce  the  event,  and 
to  invite  the  Elector  to  the  vacant  throne ;  so  that  it 
is  not  probable  that  Addison  was  ever  brought  to 
this  disastrous  pass.  Had  it  been  so,  there  is  a  pos- 


370  ADDISON. 

sibility,  that,  with  his  long  practice  in  public  affairs, 
and  his  eminently  simple  and  natural  style,  in  which 
he  no  more  dealt  in  choice  expressions  than  in  John 
son's  heavy  cannonade  of  words,  he  might  have  found 
terms  to  communicate  to  the  Elector  the  fact  that  the 
throne  Avas  vacant,  which  required  neither  flourish  nor 
lamentation  to  make  the  news  go  down. 

It  is  to  the  same  amiable  authority  to  which  we 
have  referred,  and  to  no  other,  that  we  are  indebted 
for  the  story,  that  Addison  resigned  his  office  because 
he  was  incompetent  to  discharge  its  duties.  But  it 
is  ridiculous  to  suppose,  that,  with  his  ability  and 
experience  of  public  affairs,  he  could  not  do  what 
was  so  often  and  so  easily  done  by  far  inferior  men ; 
for  he  was  no  retired  scholar,  untrained  in  this 
world's  affairs,  but  a  man  whose  education  and 
habits  of  life  were  precisely  adapted  for  the  station, 
with  the  single  exception  of  speaking  in  parliament, 
which  was  not  expected  of  him,  and  which  he  never 
undertook  to  do.  The  cause  of  his  retirement  is 
obvious  enough  :  it  was  the  disease  of  which  we  have 
spoken.  His  letters  speak  of  long  and  dangerous 
fits  of  sickness,  which  made  his  friends  anxious,  as 
we  learn  from  Vincent  Bourne,  Avho  celebrated  his 
recovery,  and  which  may  have  rendered  him  unequal 
to  the  station,  though  not  for  the  reasons  which 
Pope's  insinuation  would  imply.  It  is  to  be  hoped, 
however,  that  they  gave  him  credit  for  some  honora 
ble  reason  for  retiring,  when  he  died  in  the  following 
year,  unless,  indeed,  the  same  charity  which  con 
strued  severe  disease  into  incornpetency  had  charged 
his  death  upon  him  as  a  sin. 


ADDISON.  371 

The  subject  of  Addison's  marriage  is  enveloped  in 
a  strange  darkness.  In  this,  however,  his  character 
is  not  concerned.  Many  wise  men  of  mature  age 
involve  themselves  in  this  kind  of  difficulty,  from 
which,  when  they  find  their  mistake,  they  cannot 
easily  be  extricated.  But  it  is  edifying  to  see,  that 
our  impression  of  the  urihappiness  of  his  marriage 
with  the  Countess  of  Warwick  rests  upon  a  "  per 
haps"  of  Johnson.  He,  in  his  blind  reverence  for 
rank  and  title,  did  not  perceive  that  the  high  political 
standing  of  Addison,  together  with  his  literary  fame, 
made  him  rather  more  than  equal  to  the  widow  of  a 
declining  house  ;  for  she  was  not  of  the  family  which 
now  bears  the  name ;  and,  having  once  taken  his 
own  view  of  the  matter,  his  ponderous  fancy  went 
on  in  its  career  of  invention  with  nothing  to  stop  its 
wheels.  Johnson  says  he  first  became  acquainted 
with  the  lady  from  having  been  tutor  to  her  son. 
But  there  is  no  proof  that  he  ever  held  this  charge  ; 
and,  being  at  the  time  in  the  office  of  under-secretary 
of  state,  it  is  not  very  likely  that  he  officiated  as  tutor 
to  a  boy  ten  years  old.  That  he  did  take  an  interest 
in  the  youth  is  certain  from  his  letters,  and  he  did  so 
probably  from  regard  to  his  mother ;  but  how  or 
when  he  formed  her  acquaintance,  we  are  not 
informed.  Johnson  also  quotes  from  Tonson  :  "  He 
formed  the  design  of  getting  that  lady,  from  the  time 
he  was  first  recommended  into  the  family."  Jacob 
was  certainly  an  extraordinary  person  to  intrust  a 
love-tale  with ;  and,  if  Addison  gave  him  his  confi 
dence  on  such  a  matter,  he  placed  more  trust  in  his 
discretion  than  most  other  men  would  have  done. 


372  ADDISON. 

The  great  critic  seems  to  have  been  aware,  that 
the  world  would  think  it  well  for  him  to  give  some 
authority  besides  his  own  imagination  for  stating  that 
the  marriage  was  unhappy ;  but  "  uncontradicted 
report"  is  all  the  testimony  he  can  bring.  But  who 
was  to  contradict  it  ?  Addison  might  never  have 
heard  of  it :  if  he  had,  he  does  not  seem  very  likely 
to  have  published  a  manifesto  assuring  the  world  that 
he  was  not  the  distressed  object  they  took  him  for ; 
nor  had  he  descendants  to  rise  up  in  after  days,  and 
vindicate  his  married  fame.  Johnson  might  have 
received  a  lesson,  had  he  known  what  was  said  by  his 
friends  of  his  own  fair  bride,  of  her  coarse  and  vulgar 
airs,  and  the  selfishness  with  which  she  indulged  her 
self  at  great  expense  in  country  air,  and  other  ele 
ments  somewhat  stronger,  while  he  was  laboring 
with  his  pen  in  London.  Had  the  world  known 
nothing  more,  they  might  reasonably  have  inferred 
that  his  own  connection  was  no  fountain  of  delight. 
And  yet  there  is  no  doubt  that  he  sincerely  loved  and 
deplored  his  wife. 

There  is  something  unpardonably  rash  in  the  man 
ner  in  which  he  has  descanted  on  this  part  of  Addi- 
son's  history,  without  even  Spence  to  sustain  him. 
The  only  fact  which  we  know  in  relation  to  it  implies 
that  the  connection  was  happy,  and  not  wanting 
in  that  mutual  confidence  which  forms  its  greatest 
blessing.  In  Addison's  will,  dated  a  month  before 
his  death,  he  left  his  whole  estate,  real  and  personal, 
to  his  lady :  at  their  marriage,  instead  of  being  en 
riched  by  the  connection,  he  had  settled  property  on 
her.  JHis  words  are :  "I  do  make  and  ordain  my 


ADDISON.  373 

dear  wife  executrix  of  this  my  last  will ;  and  I  do 
appoint  her  to  be  guardian  of  my  dear  child  Char 
lotte  Addison,  until  she  attain  the  age  of  one  and 
twenty ;  being  well  assured  that  she  will  take  good 
care  of  her  education  and  maintenance,  and  provide 
for  her  in  case  she  live  to  be  married."  Anybody 
who  chooses  may  believe  that  such  a  man  would 
intrust  his  only  child  to  the  care  of  one  who  had 
made  his  home  so  miserable  that  he  was  driven  to 
spend  his  evenings  in  a  tavern ;  but,  with  us,  this 
undoubted  expression  of  confidence  weighs  more  in 
her  favor  than  any  amount  of  conjecture  on  the  other 
side.  For  this  woman,  it  must  be  remembered,  had 
a  son  and  daughters  by  her  former  marriage  ;  and  a 
father  must  have  been  more  unnatural  than  we  think 
he  was,  if  he  had  left  his  own  child  a  helpless  prisoner 
in  a  house  which  is  said  to  have  been  intolerable  to 
himself. 

There  is  one  passage  in  Addison's  history  on  which 
we  cannot  dwell  with  satisfaction,  though  the  only 
reproach  which  it  brings  is  that  of  yielding  for  a 
moment  to  the  exasperation  of  feeling  into  which  the 
best  men  may  sometimes  fall.  When  he  left  office 
for  ever,  parties  were  raging  high ;  and  Steele,  whose 
reputation  and  fortunes  had  been  shattered  by  his 
follies,  undertook  the  management  of  a  paper  which 
he  called  the  "  Plebeian,"  in  opposition  to  the  Peerage 
bill,  which  was  intended  to  abridge  that  power  of  the 
crown  which  had  created  twelve  peers  at  once  in 
Harley's  administration,  to  secure  a  majority  in  the 
House  of  Lords.  Some  of  the  Whigs  opposed  the 
measure,  and  among  them  Steele ;  who  was  answered 


374  ADDISON. 

in  the  "  Old  Whig,"  in  a  paper  written  with  such 
force  of  thought  and  style,  that  Addison  was  known 
at  once  to  be  the  writer.  It  contained  no  personal 
allusions,  and,  though  earnest  in  its  argument,  had 
nothing  in  it  meant  to  inflict  a  personal  wound.  Not 
so  with  Steele's  reply  :  it  was  angry  and  bitter,  accus 
ing  the  "  Old  Whig"  of  deserting  his  principles,  and 
treating  him  in  a  manner  which  seems  unaccountable 
to  those  who  have  never  seen  kind  hearts  possessed 
with  the  devil  of  party.  In  his  retort,  Addison  was 
provoked  to  some  personal  and  contemptuous  expres 
sions,  such  as  he  had  never  used  before.  The  next 
number  of  the  "  Plebeian  "  showed  that  Steele  was 
deeply  wounded  by  the  treatment  which  he  had 
brought  upon  himself;  and,  as  Johnson  says, — 
"  Every  reader  must  regret  that  these  two  illustrious 
friends,  after  so  many  years  passed  in  confidence 
and  endearment,  in  unity  of  interest,  conformity  of 
opinion,  and  fellowship  of  study,  should  finally  part 
in  acrimonious  opposition."  But  so  unfortunately 
it  was ;  and  yet  we  cannot  believe  that  Steele  would 
have  written  as  he  did,  could  he  have  thought  that 
his  former  friend  would  read  it  almost  with  his  dying 
eyes.  We  are  authorized  to  believe  that  Addison 
regretted  his  share  in  it,  from  the  circumstance  that 
Tickell  did  not  mention  this  paper  in  his  works,  nor 
insert  it  among  his  other  writings ;  and  that  Steele's 
resentment  was  momentary,  wre  may  infer  from  his 
afterwards  mentioning  Addison,  in  a  letter  to  Con- 
greve,  as  "  the  man  that  he  loved  best." 

The  dying  scene  of  Addison  was  an  appropriate 
close  to  such  a  life  :  the  support  of  that  religion  which 


ADDISON. 


375 


he  had  followed  through  all  his  days  was  present  to 
brighten  the  death-bed  in  his  closing  hour.  Miss 
Aikin  inclines,  from  internal  evidence,  to  distrust  the 
story  told  by  Dr.  Young,  of  his  sending  for  the  young 
Earl  of  Warwick,  that  he  might  see  how  a  Christian 
could  die.  She  thinks  that  it  appears  too  much  like 
display  to  be  consistent  with  his  humble  and  retiring 
spirit ;  but  it  is  going  quite  too  far  to  discredit  a  cir 
cumstantial  statement  made  on  such  authority,  merely 
because  it  does  not  agree  with  our  notions  of  what 
beseems  such  a  place  and  hour.  We  can  see  no 
such  aiming  at  effect,  nor  does  it  savor  in  the  least  of 
ostentation.  The  young  man,  probably,  like  too 
many  persons  of  his  rank  and  age,  had  no  faith  in 
religious  feeling;  like  others  who  have  known  nothing 
of  it  from  their  own  experience,  he  did  not  believe 
in  its  existence ;  not  reflecting  that  he  could  not  pro 
nounce  upon  the  genuineness  of  that  which  he  did 
not  know.  To  us  it  seems  perfectly  natural  that 
Addison,  earnest  to  undeceive  him,  should  have  taken 
that  course  to  show  him  that  religion  was  not  a  name 
and  a  profession,  but  a  real  and  substantial  thing, 
which,  though  unseen,  has  power  to  sustain  the  dying 
when  the  shadows  of  death  are  falling,  and  the  world 
is  passing  away. 

Before  his  death,  he  sent  for  Gay,  with  whom  he 
had  not  been  familiar,  and,  after  receiving  him  with 
great  kindness,  asked  his  forgiveness  of  some  former 
wrong :  he  did  not  say  what  it  was,  and  Gay  never 
was  able  to  conjecture  what  it  could  possibly  have 
been.  But  the  incident  is  important ;  for,  certainly, 
if  the  dying  man  was  so  anxious  to  make  reparation 


376  ADDISON. 

for  an  injury  which  the  subject  of  it  was  never  con 
scious  of  receiving,  he  must,  beyond  all  question, 
have  taken  the  same  opportunity  to  clear  his  mind 
from  the  shade  of  those  greater  offences  with  which 
he  has  been  charged,  if  there  were  any  such  to  re 
member.  Were  there  nothing  else,  this  would  be 
sufficient  to  prove  to  our  satisfaction,  that  he  had 
never  been  guilty  of  that  fraud,  falsehood,  and  in 
temperance,  of  which  an  enemy  accused  him,  and 
which  have  left  a  reproach  upon  his  memory  that  it 
is  high  time  to  remove,  wherever  the  condemnation 
may  fall. 

It  is  a  matter  of  deep  interest  to  the  cause  of  let 
ters  to  clear  from  unmerited  reproach  one  of  the  few 
who,  with  high  literary  eminence,  have  labored  to 
maintain  not  so  much  the  reputation  as  the  character 
of  a  Christian.  It  is  the  glory  of  Addison,  that,  in 
an  age  when  lawless  ridicule  was  sometimes  applied 
to  subjects  the  most  important,  and  when  religion 
was  neither  valued  nor  understood  by  many  of  the 
leaders  of  taste,  —  when  Sir  William  Temple  had 
reason  to  say,  "  The  fools  of  David's  time,  who  said 
in  their  hearts,  There  is  no  God,  are  the  wits  of 
ours,"  —  he  never  was  ashamed  of  the  gospel,  but 
quietly  opened  his  heart  to  its  influences,  and  en 
deavored  to  keep  its  commands.  He  was  also  free 
from  that  narrowness  with  which  religious  principle 
is  sometimes  attended.  Sometimes  he  speaks  with 
severity  of  those  who  differed  from  him,  for  the  virtue 
of  toleration  had  then  hardly  dawned  upon  the  public 
mind :  but  that  he  was  free  from  all  bigotry  is  mani 
fest  from  his  patronage  of  Whiston,  and  his  respect 


ADDISON.  377 

for  Thomas  Burnet,  and  the  "  reasoning  mill,"  as 
Voltaire  called  him,  Dr.  Samuel  Clarke.  Without 
any  compromise  of  his  faith  or  feeling,  he  associated 
with  such  men  as  Garth,  who,  when  dying,  sent  to 
him  to  ask  if  Christianity  was  true ;  and,  under  ail 
circumstances  and  in  all  associations,  he  kept  the 
whiteness  of  his  soul  undefiled,  except  by  the  stains 
and  shadows  thrown  upon  it  by  the  wretched  hos 
tility  of  Pope.  How  this  was  requited  we  happily 
are  able  to  tell.  After  their  separation,  brought  on 
by  the  insolent  letter  mentioned  above,  having  occa 
sion  to  speak  of  the  manner  in  which  the  language 
was  enriched  by  translations  of  classical  authors, 
Addison,  in  the  "  Freeholder,"  mentions  Pope's 
"  Homer,"  not  cordially,  as  if  it  was  meant  for  a 
peace-offering,  but  in  terms  of  respect  perfectly  natu 
ral,  kind,  and  such  as,  though  they  would  not  equal 
the  demands  of  the  poet,  all  disinterested  persons 
would  allow  to  be  just. 

But  we  do  not  mean  to  represent  Addison  as  fault 
less  ;  neither  was  Pope  destitute  of  virtues,  though 
afflicted  with  that  disease  of  the  spirit  which  made 
him  see  all  things  yellow.  To  us  it  seems  clear,  that 
the  great  failing  in  Addison's  character  was  his  fas 
tidiousness  :  excellent  as  his  heart  was,  this  difficulty 
prevented  his  sympathies  from  extending  as  widely 
as  religion  would  have  them.  It  made  him  shrink 
from  near  approach  to  mankind  in  general,  though 
warm-hearted  to  his  friends  and  companions ;  and 
thus  it  often  happens,  that  literary  habits  and  a  sen 
sitive  nature,  though  they  have  their  own  ways  of 
manifestation,  do  something  to  unfit  men  for  active 

32* 


378  ADDISON. 

usefulness  ;  as  the  marble,  though  excellent  for  sculp 
ture,  is  less  adapted  for  works  of  public  improve 
ment  than  coarser  varieties  of  stone.  But,  after 
making  all  possible  abatement,  enough  will  remain 
to  establish  the  character  of  Addison  on  the  highest 
ground.  As  a  writer,  we  look  through  the  history 
of  letters,  and  we  find  very  few  before  him  ;  as  a 
man  and  a  Christian,  we  know  of  none. 

If  we  have  exceeded  our  usual  bounds  in  enlarging 
on  this  subject,  it  is  because  we  are  fully  persuaded 
that  justice  has  never  been  done  to  Addison.  Those 
who  look  into  the  matter  are  surprised  to  see  how 
little  foundation  there  is  for  many  things  which  go 
down  from  generation  to  generation :  it  is  sometimes 
alarming  to  think  how  long  the  effect  of  a  calumny 
may  last.  But  it  is  consoling  to  see,  that,  where  the 
life  has  been  ordered  in  principle  and  faithfulness, 
the  general  character  bears  witness  for  itself  which 
none  can  deny.  The  world  may  charge  the  man 
with  weaknesses  and  frailties ;  but  they  cannot  mis 
represent  him  so  far  as  to  overcloud  the  brightness 
of  his  fame.  So  it  has  been  with  Addison  :  those 
who  credited  the  slander  have  not  denied  his  excel 
lence  ;  they  have  tenderly  lamented  these  darkening 
stains,  as  those  infirmities  which  may  be  expected 
from  poor  human  nature.  But,  in  truth,  he  needs 
no  such  forgiveness ;  and  we  believe  that  those  who 
investigate  the  matter  without  having  made  up  their 
minds  beforehand  will  bring  in  a  verdict  of  "  not 
guilty,"  and  be  ready  to  exalt  him  to  one  of  the 
highest  places  among  the  lights  of  the  world. 


379 


MARGARET. 


Margaret ;  a  Tale  of  the  Real  and  Ideal,  Blight  and  Bloom  ;  in 
cluding  Sketches  of  a  Place  not  before  described,  called  Mons 
Christi.  Boston  :  Jordan  and  Wiley,  18-15  ;  12mo,  pp.  460. 

To  write  a  story  which  shall  find  a  market  would 
not  seem  to  be  a  very  difficult  undertaking,  if  we 
may  judge  from  the  ship-loads  of  such  matters  which 
find  a  rejoicing  welcome,  and  the  multitudes  of  men, 
so  called,  besides  women  and  children,  who  fall,  with 
a  wolf-like  appetite,  on  husks,  which,  if  the  lower 
animals  were  readers,  would  appear  intended  for 
creatures  much  lower  than  mankind.  But  to  mature 
a  novel  which  shall  command  the  respect  of  really 
intelligent  persons,  which  shall  impress  more  on  the 
second  reading  than  the  first,  and  which  powerful 
minds  can  resort  to  for  impulse  and  invigoration,  is 
what  few  of  the  multitudes  who  have  attempted  it 
have  been  able  to  do  ;  because  it  requires  a  richness 
of  attainment,  a  cheerful  and  sympathizing  spirit,  a 
wide-reaching  mastery  of  style,  together  with  a  clear 
and  strong  good  sense,  which  are  seldom  found 
united  in  any  single  mind.  It  may  seem  strange  to 
hear  this  last  attribute  mentioned  as  a  chief  element 
of  success,  when  it  is  one  of  the  last  gifts  and  graces 


380  MARGARET. 

which  the  habitual  novel-reader  is  likely  to  possess 
himself,  or  to  demand  in  others  ;  nevertheless,  it  is  so. 
It  has  been  abundantly  proved  by  experiment,  that 
sagacious  common-sense  is  necessary  for  the  manage 
ment  of  the  various  materials,  for  the  control  and 
guidance  of  fancy,  and  for  bringing  all  to  bear  on 
the  impression  which  it  is  desired  to  stamp  in  the 
mind  and  heart.  One  may  apply  to  this  quality 
what  William  Penn  said  to  the  recorder  of  London, 
when  that  potentate  told  him,  after  repeated  de 
mands,  that  he  was  guilty  by  the  common  law : 
"  Friend,  if  that  law  of  which  thou  speakest  be  com 
mon,  methinks  it  should  not  be  so  hard  to  produce." 
Hard  to  produce  examples  of  this  common-sense,  in 
this  department  of  literature,  it  certainly  is  ;  so  much 
the  sins  and  sorrows,  the  quarrels  and  eccentricities, 
of  authors  will  sadly  tell.  And  this  is  one  great 
reason  why  Scott  and  Miss  Edgeworth  still  keep 
their  high  stations,  defying  all  efforts  to  displace 
them.  How  far  it  is  a  gift  of  nature,  and  how  far  it 
may  be  formed  by  experience  and  reflection,  it  is  not 
easy  to  tell ;  but,  without  it,  no  writer  of  fiction  will 
ever  make  a  satisfactory  impression,  or  secure  a 
lasting  and  unquestioned  fame. 

But  the  highest  gifts  and  powers  would  find  them 
selves  at  fault  in  the  attempt  to  construct  a  story  as 
a  vehicle  for  the  expression  of  doctrines  and  opinions  : 
most  probably  they  would  not  attempt  it.  A  trans 
parency  cannot  be  a  very  good  picture,  and  great 
artists  will  leave  it  to  other  hands.  It  is  true,  that 
St.  Pierre,  in  his  "  Paul  and  Virginia,"  intended  to 
show  the  evils  of  artificial  society  in  contrast  with 


MARGARET.  381 

the  blessings  of  simple  and  unpretending  life  ;  but  it  is 
equally  true,  that  no  reader  cares  for  or  thinks  of  the 
moral ;  so  that  it  is  only  because  the  fiction  is  not  what 
he  meant  it  should  be,  that  it  met  with  such  brilliant 
success.  There  are  many  such  cases,  in  which  the 
writer  begins  with  that  intention,  but  finds  himself 
obliged  to  give  up  the  doctrine  or  the  story.  So  in 
Miss  Martineau's  "  Illustrations  of  Political  Econo 
my,"  the  doctrine  is  put  out  of  the  way  as  the  story 
advances,  and  afterwards  attached  to  it,  as  if  by  a 
wafer  or  a  string  :  the  reader  removes  the  obstruc 
tion  to  his  operation,  and  treats  the  work  like  any 
other  fiction.  But,  in  works  of  a  graver  cast,  where 
the  moral  is  too  precious  to  be  thus  cavalierly  treated, 
the  doctrine  is  sure  to  crush  down  the  narrative  with 
its  weight.  The  sable  fleet  of  religious  novels,  op 
pressed  with  their  leaden  cargo,  have  shown  marvel 
lous  alacrity  in  sinking  where  they  were  never  heard 
of  more  ;  and  the  whole  history  of  these  experiments 
proves,  that  there  is  an  inherent  unfitness  in  this 
form  of  communication  for  any  such  purposes.  Such 
truths  must  be  presented  to  minds  in  a  different  state 
from  that  in  which  novels  find  and  leave  them.  There 
is  something  praiseworthy  in  the  attempt,  no  doubt ; 
but  it  is  not  every  one  who  has  the  power  to  become 
all  things  to  all  men  ;  and  this  adaptation,  however 
well  intended,  must  have  regard  to  its  metes  and 
bounds.  Had  the  great  English  moralist,  in  the 
exercise  of  his  high  vocation,  presented  himself  in  a 
ballroom,  in  order  to  create  sympathy  by  assimilating 
himself  to  the  fashions  there  prevailing,  he  probably, 
as  he  swept  through  the  dance  like  a  mastodon,  de- 


382  MARGARET. 

molishing  light  fantastic  toes  without  number,  would 
have  alarmed  the  sons  and  daughters  of  pleasure 
by  his  stormy  gyrations,  more  than  he  would  have 
fascinated  them  by  putting  on  their  manners  and 
graces.  And  every  professed  teacher  places  himself 
at  equal  disadvantage,  when  he  parts  with  the  charac 
ter  which  is  natural  to  him,  to  assume,  even  for  the 
best  reasons,  a  disguise  which  he  knows  not  how  to 
wear. 

When  the  writer's  professed  object  is  to  present 
and  sustain  new  theories  of  social  life,  the  difficulty 
is  greater  yet ;  because  the  first  question  with  respect 
to  them  is,  "  Are  they  practicable  ?  "  It  is  easy  to 
frame  beautiful  systems,  and  to  plan  vast  improve 
ments  ;  but,  when  they  are  brought  to  the  test  of 
action,  unforeseen  difficulties  often  appear.  Like 
the  wings  of  the  schemer  in  "  Rasselas,"  however 
nicely  calculated  for  the  resistance  of  the  air  and  the 
weight  they  are  to  carry,  as  soon  as  they  are  spread 
for  a  flight,  the  neck  of  the  inventor  is  in  much  dan 
ger,  and  the  merit  of  the  contrivance  is  set  at  rest. 
To  show  that  a  theory  works  Avell  in  a  novel  is  not 
enough  to  silence  the  doubter ;  there  the  elements  of 
success  are  more  under  control  and  less  refractory 
than  they  are  found  in  real  life :  the  Utopian  experi 
ment,  that  is,  the  one  tried  nowhere,  is  not  precisely 
the  thing  to  convince  opposers.  Neither  is  it  enough 
to  show  that  the  existing  state  of  things  requires  im 
provement  ;  this  will  be  the  case  in  the  happiest  state 
of  existence  here  below  ;  but  it  may  be  undeniable 
that  things  are  bad  as  they  are,  and  yet  not  by  any 
means  clear  that  our  inventions  would  make  them 


MARGARET.  383 

better.  And,  when  both  the  old  abuses  and  the  new 
improvements  are  set  before  us  in  imaginary  forms, 
the  former  overstated  as  is  common  in  fiction,  and 
the  latter  wholly  untried  in  practice,  and  therefore 
somewhat  visionary  in  their  aspect,  all  reasoning  and 
inference  are  too  shadowy  and  unsubstantial  to  make 
any  impression  on  those  who  do  not  already  sympa 
thize  with  the  theorist  in  his  aversion  for  the  old,  and 
his  passion  for  the  new. 

One  of  the  doctrines  intimated  in  this  work  is  the 
sufficiency  of  every  mind  to  itself;    thus  implying 
that  every  human  spirit  can  solve  for  itself  the  pro 
blem  of  existence,  and  work  out  from  its  own  re 
sources  an  idea  of  God  and  eternity,  sufficient  to 
satisfy  the  wants  of  the  soul.     A  Christian  apostle 
has  stated,  that  men  might  have  become  acquainted 
with  the  Divine  power  and  existence  from  the  sug 
gestion  of  created  things  ;  but  it  must  be  understood 
that  they  might  have  done  so,  had  they  begun  aright, 
by  listening  to  the  intimations  of  nature  from  with 
out,  and  paying  respect  to  the  voice  of  conscience 
within.     Had  this  been  the  course  of  mankind  from 
the  beginning,  no  doubt  they  might  have  travelled 
in  the  ascending  path  of  light  far  beyond  what  can 
be  seen  or  even  imagined  now.     But  that  any  single 
mind  exposed  to  depraving  influences,  with  its  selfish 
and  worldly  passions  constantly  tempted  into  strong 
action,  could  clear  an  atmosphere  and  form  a  field 
of  vision  for  itself,  so  as  to  discern  those  heavenly 
things  which  are  invisible  to  other  eyes,  requires  to 
be  established  by  stronger  evidence  than  a  fictitious 
illustration  can  supply.     For  the  human  race  had  a 


384  MARGARET. 

tolerable  allowance  of  time  to  make  these  discoveries 
for  themselves  ;  and  yet,  though  powerful  minds  bent 
their  energies  in  that  direction,  they  made  no  ap 
proach  to  success.  If  they  could  not  do  it  in  some 
thousand  years,  it  does  not  seem  likely  that  they  can 
do  it  at  all.  It  is  true  that  a  sense  of  dependence 
suggested  that  there  was  some  higher  Power  ;  but 
this  gives  little  satisfaction,  without  some  knowledge 
of  his  character,  and  our  relations  to  him.  If  we  feel 
a  presence  near  us  at  deep  midnight,  it  gives  us  no 
confidence  :  it  is  rather  an  oppressive  and  fearful 
mystery.  It  is  not  till  we  recognize  it  as  the  pre 
sence  of  a  friend,  that  it  can  possibly  encourage  and 
strengthen  us.  And  it  was  in  this  painful  way  alone 
that  men  felt  the  Divine  presence  in  the  ages  before 
Christianity  ;  and  so,  without  a  revelation,  they  would 
feel  it  still.  Now  it  may  be  admitted,  that  men  of 
themselves  might  discover  the  Divine  existence ;  but 
what  would  the  knowledge  avail  them,  without  such 
information  of  his  character  as  to  make  that  know 
ledge  a  blessing  to  the  heart  ?  We  do  not  under 
stand  this  author  as  maintaining,  however,  that  the 
minds  of  children  can  work  out  the  full  disclosure 
for  themselves,  but  only  as  intimating  that  they  are 
better  off  without  such  religious  instruction  as  is 
commonly  given  them  than  with  it.  In  this  we  do 
not  agree  with  him ;  for,  though  uncouth,  imperfect, 
and  unworthy,  it  at  least  conveys  the  impression  of 
something  which  is  considered  important ;  and  there 
fore,  when  communicated  in  good  faith  and  sincerity, 
it  is  better  than  none. 

Our  author  also  intends  to  convey  an  idea  of  New 


MARGARET. 


385 


England  life  and  character,  by  representing  a  com 
munity  which  has  grown  up  under  a  form  of  Chris 
tianity.  He  paints  them  as  coarse,  selfish,  and 
worldly,  with  hardly  an  exception  ;  indulging  in  dis 
honesty,  intemperance,  and  other  vices,  unreproved, 
and  to  such  an  extent  as  to  excite  the  contempt  and 
aversion  of  a  child,  who  herself  had  grown  up  among 
degraded  associates  in  a  drunkard's  home.  What 
can  it  be  which  induces  all  who  give  a  representation 
of  New  England  to  make  it  so  desperately  vulgar  ? 
In  the  name  of  common-sense,  is  it  true,  that  there 
is  nobody  but  Sam  Slick  extant  in  this  part  of  the 
habitable  globe  ?  Sharp  and  selfish  many  are,  no 
doubt,  but  not  in  a  greater  proportion  than  else 
where  ;  and  it  is  a  fact,  though  no  one  would  suspect 
it  from  such  writings,  that  there  are  hearts  and  souls 
here  ;  hearts  as  true  and  souls  as  spiritual  as  in  other 
parts  of  the  world.  We  hardly  know  how  to  explain 
this  perversion  of  the  truth,  except  from  the  tendency 
of  the  pencil,  in  the  hands  of  an  unpractised  painter, 
to  caricature  ;  for  every  one  who  knows  what  real 
refinement  of  feeling  is,  must  have  found  much  of  it 
in  the  humblest  places  of  the  land.  And  as  for  kind 
affections,  the  author  is  true  to  nature,  when,  in  a 
beautiful  passage  of  his  work,  he  represents  the  vil 
lagers  as  turning  out,  with  self-forgetful  and  deep 
feeling,  to  find  the  child,  the  heroine  of  his  story, 
who  was  wandering  in  the  woods  when  a  whirlwind 
passed  through  them.  Nothing  can  be  better  than 
the  description  of  enmities  laid  aside,  and  cares  and 
interests  forgotten,  while  all  engage  with  unanimous 
impulse  in  this  labor  of  love.  Whence  came  these 

33 


386  MARGARET. 

affections,  flashing  out  with  such  brightness  at  such 
a  time  ?  Had  Christianity  nothing  to  do  in  forming 
them  ?  Would  they  have  been  found  to  the  same 
extent  in  any  but  a  Christian  land  ?  There  were 
those  who  distilled  ardent  spirit,  and  those  who  sold 
and  drank  it ;  but  it  does  not  appear  that  this  was 
done  in  consequence  of  instructions  from  the  pulpit 
to  that  effect ;  nor  could  the  clergymen  be  con 
demned  for  not  denouncing  such  things,  when  no 
one  suspected  them  to  be  sins.  Father  Matthew,  had 
he  lived  in  that  day,  would  have  taken  his  glass  with 
others.  The  impressions  thus  given  are  neither  ac 
cording  to  nature  nor  truth. 

Too  much  of  the  work,  probably  because  the  author 
was  describing  that  which  he  personally  knew  little 
about,  is  liable  to  the  same  objection  with  the  account 
of  the  ordination  dinner,  on  the  228th  page,  which 
has  just  enough  of  fact  to  save  it  from  being  called 
an  entire  misrepresentation,  and  enough  of  travesty 
to  give  an  entirely  false  impression  of  the  men  and 
times  which  it  describes  ;  —  men  cheerful  and  natural 
in  their  manners,  but  worthily  respected,  and  at  least 
as  holy  as  those  who  have  come  after  them  ;  and 
times  which,  though  abounding  in  their  own  pecu 
liar  temptations,  were  exempt  from  some  of  the  sins 
of  a  later  day.  On  the  whole,  the  view  of  that  state 
of  society  which  the  author  has  given  is  not  only 
dreary  and  disgusting,  but  one-sided  and  unjust :  it 
is  not  drawn  from  the  living  reality  of  those  times, 
but  from  a  theoretical  imagination  of  what,  in  his 
view,  they  are  likely  to  have  been. 

The  author  has  also  fallen  into  a  sort  of  cant. 


MARGARET. 


387 


which  prevails  quite  extensively  at  the  present  day, 
and  threatens  to  abound  yet  more.  It  is  the  angry 
lamentation  over  the  fallen  church  ;  as  if  Christianity 
was  better  represented  anywhere  and  everywhere 
than  in  the  lives  and  bearing  of  those  who  profess  it. 
Every  one  who  has  a  wild  opinion  which  Christians 
regard  with  indifference  ;  every  one  who  has  some 
fantastical  remedy  for  social  evils,  which  the  good 
sense  of  Christians  rejects ;  every  one  who,  under 
some  transparent  pretext  of  philanthropy,  indulges  his 
selfish  and  savage  passions,  turns  upon  the  church, 
as  if  it  was  the  source  of  all  human  guilt  and  woe. 
Now,  it  is  quite  certain  that  the  church,  as  it  is  their 
pleasure  to  call  it,  is  by  no  means  true  to  its  profes 
sion  nor  to  its  design  ;  but  the  question  is,  To  what 
set  of  men  could  its  influence  be  transferred  with 
any  advantage  ?  And  where  are  those  who  better 
represent  the  spirit  of  their  Master  ?  The  church,  it 
must  be  remembered,  is  made  up  of  men.  They  are 
influenced  and  tempted  like  others  in  this  strange 
world  ;  but  that  they  are  less  faithful  than  others,  is 
more  easy  to  say  than  to  prove.  They  ought,  indeed, 
to  be  more  so ;  and  we  have  no  doubt  that  they  are 
more  faithful  than  others,  —  immeasurably  in  ad 
vance  of  those  wrhose  joy  it  is  to  abuse  them.  But 
it  is  so  easy  to  compound  with  one's  conscience  in 
this  way,  and  to  assume  to  one's  self  the  praise  of 
excellence  without  taking  pains  to  reach  it,  that  we 
can  hardly  expect  men  to  deny  themselves  the  self- 
glorifying  satisfaction  which  it  is  such  a  comfort  to 
possess.  Accordingly,  we  find  great  numbers  who 
endeavor  to  pass  for  holy  and  humane  at  the  expense 


388  MARGARET. 

of  nothing  but  words.  To  revel  in  this  pleasing 
self-indulgence  requires  no  other  exertion  on  their 
part  than  is  necessary  to  run  others  down  ;  so  that 
not  only  are  the  consciences  of  individuals  deeply 
wounded  by  the  sins  of  other  people,  but  we  see 
great  nations  with  all  manner  of  social  evils  and 
outrages  untouched  at  home,  sending  their  moral 
sense  abroad  to  denounce  abuses  in  foreign  lands,, 
which  are  evidently  recommended  to  their  humanity 
by  the  circumstance,  that,  inasmuch  as  those  abuses 
are  out  of  their  reach,  they  are  not  called  upon  to 
redress  them.  It  is  a  good  suggestion  to  such  per 
sons,  which  is  written  where  they  perhaps  are  not 
very  likely  to  find  it,  u  Let  them  show  piety  at 
home." 

Speaking  of  reformers,  our  times  offer  a  curious 
problem,  and  one  which  a  future  age  may  find  it  less 
difficult  to  solve  than  the  present.  When  it  is  the 
glory  of  the  age  that  the  principle  of  love  has  been 
discovered  and  applied,  —  applied  to  the  hearts  of 
men  with  a  success  which  fills  the  world  with  won 
der  ;  when  the  world,  after  hammering  on  evils  for 
some  thousand  years  in  the  vain  endeavor  to  over 
come  them  with  evil,  has  tried  the  experiment  of 
overcoming  them  with  good,  and  has  found  that  it  can 
be  triumphantly  done,  —  how  happens  it  that  many 
who  pass  for  reformers  are  perpetually  using  lan 
guage  and  breathing  out  a  spirit  which  it  would  be 
painfully  ridiculous  to  regard  as  a  manifestation  of 
love  ?  It  would  be  hard  to  tell  what  such  persons 
have  ever  succeeded  in  reforming.  Still  they  insist 
upon  their  theory ;  and,  when  they  find  that  evils 


MARGARET. 


389 


only  stand  the  firmer,  and  that  the  clear  judgment 
of  mankind  is  not  with  them,  so  far  from  suspecting 
the  soundness  of  their  principles,  they  turn  in  wrath 
on  their  cooler  advisers,  representing  them  as  the 
abettors  and  upholders  of  all  the  wrongs  which  they 
are  striving  to  overthrow.  The  truth  seems  to  be, 
that  such  persons  are  but  half  awakened  to  the 
truth.  They  have  gone  far  enough  in  the  right  di 
rection  to  see  the  guilt  and  danger  of  existing  evils, 
but  not  to  reach  the  faintest  comprehension  of  the 
spirit  of  Christian  love.  Suddenly  startled  from  their 
indifference,  they  have  been  impatient  to  do  some 
thing,  and,  without  reflecting  whether  they  could  do 
any  good,  have  dashed  hastily  into  any  door  of  re 
form  which  stood  open  near  them.  Passion  supplied 
the  place  of  humanity,  which  had  not  yet  risen  in 
their  hearts ;  and,  as  no  other  objects  of  wrath  were 
near  them,  they  fastened  with  teeth  and  nails  on  their 
neighbors  who  were  standing  quietly  at  their  side. 
While  others  cannot  see  very  clearly  the  good  they 
are  accomplishing,  they  look  upon  their  own  exploits 
with  singular  satisfaction,  as  every  cock  in  the  morn 
ing  doubtless  exults  in  believing  that  the  day  never 
would  have  broken  but  for  him.  We  do  not  mean 
to  class  our  author  with  these  grotesque  reformers, 
who  bear  no  great  resemblance  to  apostles,  except  it 
be  that  their  language  is  somewhat  like  Peter's  when 
he  asseverated  that  he  did  not  know  his  Master. 
Something  of  their  want  of  reverence  for  the  Scrip 
tures  may  be  traced  in  him  ;  but  he  has  not  their 
strong  personal  reasons  for  hostility  to  the  ninth  com 
mandment.  Without  their  harshness  and  violence, 

33* 


390  MARGARET. 

he  fails  in  general  sympathy  for  others,  and  therefore 
awakens  little  in  them.  This,  indeed,  is  one  of  the 
chief  faults  in  the  book,  —  a  kind  of  hardness  that 
runs  through  it.  When  it  pleads  the  true  cause  of 
humanity,  it  gives  no  impression  of  tenderness  ;  it 
breathes  out  an  intellectual  philanthropy  ;  its  foun 
tains  do  not  seem  to  spring  in  the  heart. 

We  say  so  much  of  reformers,  because  the  chief 
apparent  object  of  this  work  is  to  present  an  exam 
ple  of  social  reform,  the  scene  of  which  is  a  village 
where  the  general  tone  of  morals  and  manners  was 
coarse,  selfish,  and  vicious ;  more  so,  we  imagine, 
than  it  could  have  been  anywhere  in  New  Eng 
land,  even  at  the  close  of  the  Revolution ;  though 
it  was  the  fact,  that  the  difficulties  and  disasters  of 
the  war  left  their  marks  behind  them  for  many  a 
weary  day.  Industry  and  enterprise  were  sus 
pended  ;  places  of  gossiping  resort  were,  of  course, 
frequented ;  and  men  sought  for  that  happiness  in 
low  and  idle  amusement,  or  sensual  forgetfulness, 
which,  in  better  times,  they  would  have  found  in  the 
successful  exertion  of  their  physical,  social,  and 
spiritual  powers.  Now,  the  question  arises,  What 
remedy  can  be  applied  to  such  a  state  of  things,  and 
in  general  to  those  unworthy  aspects  of  social  life 
which  everywhere  abound  ?  The  inquiry  is  a  serious 
one,  and  at  this  moment  engages  the  deep  thought 
and  feeling  of  many  earnest  hearts.  We  do  not 
speak  of  those  absurd  persons  who  are  perpetually 
thrusting  themselves  before  the  public  eye,  little 
heeding  the  indifference  and  contempt  with  which  it 
regards  them ;  who  might  be  aptly  represented  by 


MARGARET.  391 

the  widow  in  this  book,  with  her  quack  nostrums  for 
all  disorders  of  the  system ;  remedies  which,  by  their 
sale,  were  beneficial  to  the  inventor,  but  detrimental 
in  the  extreme  to  the  victim  who  might  be  induced  to 
take  them.  Such  persons,  who  are  sorrowful  exam 
ples  of  want  of  wisdom  and  power  to  guide  them 
selves,  yearly  assemble  in  conventions  to  discuss  their 
plans  for  the  world's  regeneration,  all  of  which  are 
like  the  surgical  process  lately  suggested  for  com 
plaints  of  the  heart,  which  was  to  take  it  out  through 
the  side,  cleanse  it  of  disease,  and  then  replace  it ;  a 
process  attended  with  the  essential  difficulty,  that  it 
would  cease  to  go  meantime  and  for  ever.  Utterly 
undismayed  by  objections,  and  case-hardened  against 
derision,  they  wear  their  fool's  caps  with  as  much 
grace  and  grandeur  as  if  they  were  royal  crowns ; 
nor  do  they  feel  in  the  least  the  force  of  the  hint  dis 
tinctly  given  them,  that  the  world  will  mind  its  own 
business  if  they  will  attend  to  theirs. 

One  thing  seems  common  to  these  worthies :  they 
have  no  confidence  in  the  Christian  religion  as  an 
instrument  for  their  purposes  ;  and,  as  they  evidently 
know  nothing  about  it  except  the  name,  it  is  hardly 
to  be  expected  that  they  should  understand  its  power. 
This  author,  however,  is  aware  that  there  is  no  power 
sufficient  to  this  great  reform,  except  that  which 
resides  in  Christianity  ;  and  his  idea  is,  that,  if  it  can 
be  set  free  from  the  corruptions  which  restrain  its 
energies,  and  brought  into  direct  communication  with 
human  hearts,  it  will  bring  their  powers  and  affec 
tions  into  such  full  and  harmonious  action,  that,  like 
active  human  frames,  they  will  resist  the  infection  of 


392 


MARGARET. 


prevailing  disease,  when  those  which  lie  unexerted 
will  be  sure  to  receive  it,  and  to  linger  on  in  wasting 
decline,  a  burden  to  themselves,  and  losing  all  power 
to  bless  and  serve  their  race.  This  is  undoubtedly 
the  truth  ;  but  it  is  not  so  clear  that  the  want  of  power 
is  owing  to  the  particular  form  in  which  the  religion 
manifests  itself,  nor  that  it  would  become  efficient  at 
once  if  its  forms  of  doctrine  or  service  were  altered. 
There  are  those  who  make  too  much  of  forms  on  the 
superstitious  side,  when  they  treat  them  as  substitutes 
for  duty  and  devotion  ;  and  others  ascribe  too  much 
to  them  on  the  hostile  side,  when  they  consider  them 
as  determining  the  religious  character,  which  is 
shaped  and  fashioned  by  other  influences  that  work 
deeper  in  the  heart.  If  a  portion  of  doctrinal  forms 
were  wholly  corrupt  and  unsound,  and  others  were 
pure  from  earthly  admixture,  it  might  be  so.  But 
this  is  not  the  case ;  for  every  sect  has  its  portion  of 
truth :  without  it  the  sect  could  not  have  existed. 
Error  is  nothing  but  a  name  and  a  delusion ;  and  as 
we  may  see  in  popular  fancies  and  superstitions,  that 
no  one  subsists  for  any  length  of  time  without  some 
basis  of  truth  under  it,  so  we  find,  on  inquiring  into 
religious  systems,  that  each  one  contains  some  truth 
which  either  is  not  contained,  or  not  set  prominently 
forth,  in  the  others ;  and  therefore,  instead  of  bring 
ing  all  to  a  single  form  by  a  rejection  of  the  rest,  the 
true  reform  would  be  for  each  to  give  and  receive, 
each  imparting  what  is  good  in  its  views  and  its 
influence  to  others,  and  cordially  welcoming  in  return 
whatever  light  and  inspiration  they  may  be  able  to 
bestow.  It  must  be  remembered  that  these  forms 


MARGARET.  393 

are  not  arbitrarily  and  capriciously  taken  up,  except 
perhaps  in  a  few  cases.  In  general,  they  must  have 
established  themselves  in  the  mind  and  heart  of  num 
bers  by  some  stronger  power  than  that  of  accidental 
association.  There  must  have  been  some  reason  for 
their  first  adoption,  sufficient  to  account  for  their  past 
and  present  existence.  It  will  be  found  that  they 
expressed  the  state  of  mind  and  heart  in  the  com 
munity  which  embraced  them ;  they  were  in  accord 
ance  with  its  moral  and  religious  condition ;  and 
when  they  cease  to  have  this  fitness,  they  will  begin 
to  perish  ;  they  will  lose  all  their  hold  on  the  general 
reverence  and  affection ;  and  the  attempt  to  sustain 
them,  in  a  vain  traditional  existence,  will  seem  as 
useless  and  unnatural  as  to  detain  a  corpse  from  the 
grave. 

We  cannot  conceive  how  any  one  can  fail  to  see 
the  truth  on  this  subject,  when  he  observes  what  is 
passing  in  the  Christian  world.  There  is  no  danger 
of  any  permanent  harm  from  religious  forms  or  par 
ties,  when  all  that  their  friends  can  do  will  hardly 
keep  them  in  existence.  It  is  evident  they  are  under 
the  operation  of  an  unseen  law,  which  ordains,  that, 
like  the  red  leaves  of  autumn,  when  they  have  ceased 
to  answer  the  purpose  of  their  existence,  they  shall 
pass  away.  We  see  the  most  liberal,  as  they  are 
called,  those  which  allow  so  much  individual  indepen 
dence  that  they  have  hardly  sufficient  cohesion  to  call 
themselves  one,  as  fervor  extends  itself  among  them, 
are  like  cold  water  when  heat  is  applied  to  it,  going 
off  in  the  shape  of  steam,  —  not  dangerous,  as  when 
confined  in  cylinders,  but  quietly  spreading  in  the 


394 


MARGARET. 


air,  and  finding  its  place  in  the  clouds ;  while  those 
which  are  held  more  firmly  together  by  party  interest 
and  attraction,  and  therefore  are  gathered  into  larger 
masses,  at  the  moment  when  they  are  exulting  in 
their  power  and  success,  become  aware  of  an  air- 
slaking  process  going  on  within  them,  bursting  them 
at  first  into  huge  fragments,  which  defy  all  attempts  at 
re-union,  and  are  themselves  fast  crumbling  into  a 
general  heap  of  dust.  If  religious  forms  ever  had 
much  influence  upon  the  times,  the  times  have  now 
the  upper  hand,  and  will  take  ample  vengeance,  if 
ever  they  have  suffered  wrong.  To  us  it  seems  clear 
that  the  religious  forms  and  systems  in  the  day  and 
the  village  which  our  author  describes  existed  not  in 
defiance  of  light  and  truth,  but  simply  because  the 
community  was  not  ripe  for  any  other ;  and,  had  a 
better  one  been  proposed  to  them,  it  would  not  have 
been  estimated  or  even  understood.  These  forms, 
which  are  the  rallying  points  of  sects  and  parties,  are 
seen  in  various  lights  and  relations,  as  the  adherents 
to  them  advance  or  remain  stationary.  There  is  no 
longer  any  singleness  of  views,  and,  of  course,  there 
ceases  to  be  any  singleness  of  feeling.  Hence  it 
results,  that  every  such  association  contains  the  prin 
ciple  of  decay  within^itself :  it  will  bide  its  time  ;  but 
the  eye  of  the  sharp  observer,  when  he  traces  the 
first  small  seam  creeping  through  its  walls,  though  it 
gives  neither  alarm  nor  warning  to  the  inhabitants, 
knows  that  it  cannot  be  long  before  its  end  shall 
come. 

But  suppose  that  these  forms  were  as  important  as 
some  believe  them  ;  suppose  that  they  really  exerted 


MARGARET.  395 

a  controlling  influence  for  good  or  for  evil  on  those 
who  live  under  them  ;  suppose  it  were  possible  to 
remove  at  pleasure  those  which  we  disapprove.  How 
shall  their  place  be  supplied  ?  The  Quaker,  though 
a  deadly  enemy  to  fashion,  must  have  his  garments, 
and  his  resistance  ends  in  adopting  a  fashion  of  his 
own.  So  those  who  exclaim  most  fiercely  against 
these  religious  forms  must  have  some  drapery  for 
the  religious  sentiment ;  and  the  question  is,  What 
shall  it  be  ?  Our  author,  in  the  conclusion  of  his 
work,  appears  to  have  had  it  in  view  to  present  a 
system  of  his  own,  to  which  we  have  no  particular 
objection,  except  that  it  is  his  own ;  in  other  words, 
it  is  not  one  that  most  Christians  would  accept  as  a 
means  of  inspiring  or  expressing  their  religious  feel 
ing.  Like  most  other  suggestions  of  the  kind,  it  is 
made  only  in  the  spirit  of  opposition  to  the  old  sys 
tem  :  it  mistakes  reverse  of  wrong  for  right ;  and, 
when  considered  as  a  plan  proposed  for  general 
adoption,  it  is  liable  to  the  fatal  objection,  that  there 
is  no  prevailing  state  of  mind  standing  ready  to  give 
it  welcome.  The  only  true  course  to  be  pursued  by 
those  who  would  introduce  great  social  improve 
ments  is  to  adopt  as  a  basis  the  existing  state  of 
things.  By  gradual  approach  and  correction,  changes 
may  be  made  which  shall  amount  at  last  to  a  revo 
lutionary,  and,  all  the  while,  an  unconscious,  reform ; 
whereas,  the  friend  of  humanity  who  exalts  himself 
over  the  darkness  of  those  around  him,  and  calls  on 
them,  with  pert  flippancy  or  passionate  defiance,  to 
become  as  wise  as  he  is,  and  to  despise  all  the  pre 
sent  objects  of  their  reverence,  is  answered  with 


396  MARGARET. 

such  a  quiet  intimation  as  the  Jews  gave  to  Herod 
when  he  proposed  to  rebuild  their  temple,  that,  before 
they  suffered  him  to  remove  a  stick  of  the  old  build 
ing,  they  should  like  to  see  him  provide,  not  only  the 
plan,  but  the  materials  and  resources,  for  the  new. 

On  the  whole,  we  think  that  this  is  a  matter  which 
necessarily  arranges  itself;  that  is,  it  is  determined 
by  causes  and  influences  not  under  the  immediate 
control  of  human  effort,  and  therefore  not  to  be 
changed  at  will.  Where  the  religious  principle  does 
not  exist,  no  outward  forms  of  doctrine  or  service 
will  create  it ;  and,  where  it  does  exist  in  strength 
and  sincerity,  it  breaks  through  them  at  once,  and 
acts  independently  of  them.  If  there  is  any  want  of 
harmony  between  Christianity  itself  and  its  forms, 
the  form  may  be  left  standing  till  it  perhaps  sinks  in 
decay  ;  but  the  religious  principle  will  be  as  free  in 
its  range  and  action  as  if  no  form  was  there.  It  is 
easy  to  see,  in  a  great  proportion  of  cases,  why  these 
forms  are  prized  and  cherished  with  such  fond  de 
votion.  With  many,  the  respect  is  traditional,  and 
taken  at  second-hand  from  their  friends  or  fathers ; 
but,  when  they  choose  for  themselves,  we  can  see 
something  in  their  temperament,  character,  or  ha,bits 
of  thought  and  feeling,  which  inclines  them  to  those 
views  and  sects  with  which  they  will  most  readily 
assimilate.  And  this  tendency  will  not  be  changed 
by  the  strongest  demonstration  we  can  give  them  of 
the  error  of  their  way  ;  for  they  feel  that  it  is  natural 
and  beneficial  to  their  hearts,  if  not  to  ours.  Whether 
we  like  it  or  not,  we  must  reconcile  ourselves  to  this 
state  of  things :  so  it  ever  has  been,  and  so  it  will 


MARGARET.  397 

continue  to  be.  But  we  may  find  some  comfort  in 
reflecting  that  the  spirit  of  truth  is  not  confined  to 
any  party,  nor  is  it  necessarily  excluded  from  any. 
Whenever  it  exists  in  power,  it  is  the  same  in  every 
party,  —  the  same  in  every  breast. 

The  author  makes  hostile  demonstrations  against 
some  institutions  which  are  held  in  general  regard ; 
against  the  Sabbath  of  New  England,  for  example, 
which  so  many  desire  to  replace  with  a  Sabbath  of 
their  own  invention,  and  which  is  naturally  enough 
regarded  by  those  who  are  unaccustomed  to  it  as  a 
heavy  and  uninteresting  day.  There  is  no  doubt, 
that,  in  former  times,  it  was  observed  with  a  severity 
which  would  not  consist  with  our  feelings.  This 
writer  has  given  a  representation  of  it  as  it  was  half 
a  century  ago,  showing  the  general  sense  of  relief 
which  pervaded  all  hearts,  particularly  those  of  the 
children  of  the  community,  when  the  Sabbath  sun 
went  down.  But  does  he  suppose  that  the  day,  with 
all  its  gloom,  was  forced  upon  our  fathers  against 
nature,  and  in  defiance  of  their  taste  and  choice  ? 
On  the  contrary,  it  was  a  true  expression  of  their 
taste  and  feeling ;  and  it  came  into  that  tragically 
solemn  form,  and  stood  fast  in  their  reverence,  be 
cause  their  hearts  pronounced  it  good.  It  is  true, 
that  a  change  in  the  character  and  feeling  of  the 
community  was  taking  place  at  the  period  which  this 
writer  so  well  describes ;  and  he  is  perfectly  right  in 
representing  them  as  groaning  under  its  severe  re 
straints,  and  submitting  to  it  as  a  heavy  burden, 
because,  when  it  had  ceased  to  be  in  harmony  with 
their  prevailing  spirit,  it  could  no  longer  do  them 
34 


398  .    MARGARET. 

good  as  before.     It  is  when  in  this  transition-state 
that  he  describes  it ;   when  it  was  changing  from  a 
Judaical  stagnation  into  the  interested  thoughtfulness 
and  cheerful  devotion  in  which  the  Sabbath  is  now 
spent  by  those  who  observe  it  best.     Much  specula 
tive  wisdom  is  expended  on  this  subject  by  some  of 
the  lights  of  our  day ;   sundry  doctors  maintaining 
that  every  day  should  be  a  Sabbath,  and  not  appear 
ing  to  be  at  all  aware  that  it  may  result  from  this 
principle,  if  admitted,  not  that  the  Sabbath  should  be 
dispensed  with,  but,  on  the  contrary,  that  it  should 
send  its  influence  through  the  week,  making  every 
day  like  itself,  —  a  result  which,  we  imagine,  will 
not  soon  come  to  pass  in  the  history  of  those  who 
hold  it  in  light  esteem.      As  for  the  foolishness  of 
their  preaching  who  maintain   that  it  ought  to  be 
given  to  recreation,  as  it  is  in  some  other  lands,  it  is 
enough  to  say,  that  a  fiddling  and  dancing  Sabbath 
might  be  very  much  to  their  taste,  but  would  be 
rejected  with  scorn  by  every  enlightened  and  thought 
ful  people.     What  we  need  is  a  day  of  rest  to  the 
body  in  favor  of  the  mind  and  heart ;   and  it  is  be 
cause  the  Sabbath  answers  to  this  want  of  our  nature, 
that  it  exists  and  will  endure,  defying  all  attempts 
that  can  be  made  to  displace  it  from  the  reverence 
and  affection  of  cultivated  men,     We  are  glad  to 
see  that  the  hostility  of  this  writer  turns  only  against 
its  errors  and  abuses,  and  that  his  ideal  is  one  in 
which  all  serious  persons  would  agree.     <(  It  is  the 
Lord's  day  to  us :   in  the  most  exalted  sense,  it  is 
Christ's  own  day.      All  days  are  holy :   this  is  the 
cream  of  the  week.     On  the  spiritual  river  where 


MARGARET. 

we  would  ever  sail,  the  Sabbath  opens  into  clearer 
water,  a  broader  bay ;  and  we  can  rest  on  our  oars 
to  get  a  distincter  view  of  the  heavenly  hills  whither 
we  tend." 

In  one  passage  of  his  work,  the  Sabbath  as  it  was 
is  brought  full  before  us  by  a  few  touches  of  beauti 
ful  description  :  — 

"  It  was  a  Sabbath,  morning,  a  June  Sabbath  morning,  a  June 
Sabbath  morning  in  New  England.  The  sun  rose  over  a  hushed, 
calm  world,  wrapt  like  a  Madonna  in  prayer.  It  was  The  Day, 
as  the  Bible  is  The  Book.  It  was  an  intersection  of  the  natural 
course  of  time,  a  break  in  the  customary  order  of  events,  and  lay 
between,  with  its  walls  of  Saturday  and  Sunday  night  on  either 
side,  like  a  chasm,  or  a  dyke,  or  a  mystical  apartment,  whatever 

you  would  please  liken  it  to It  light,  its  air,  its  warmth, 

its  sound,  its  sun,  the  shimmer  of  the  dawn  on  the  brass  cock 
of  the  steeple,  the  look  of  the  meeting-house  itself,  —  all  things 
were  not  as  on  other  days.  And  now,  when  those  old  Sabbaths 
are  almost  gone,  some  latent,  indefinable  impression  of  what  they 
were  comes  over  us,  and  wrenches  us  into  awe,  stillness,  and 
regret."  —  p.  101. 

While  we  cannot  but  approve  the  idea  of  the  Sab 
bath  as  our  author  has  here  presented  it,  we  cannot 
say  that  we  have  equal  confidence  in  the  system  of 
festivals  which  he  has  devised  in  his  Arcadian  vision ; 
not  that  they  are  inappropriate  and  inconsistent  in 
themselves,  but  because  they  are  not  in  harmony 
with  the  genius  of  our  people.  The  same  taste 
which  demands  and  rejoices  in  the  Sabbath,  as  a 
day  of  spiritual  thoughtfulness,  will  not  be  likely  to 
thirst  for  recreations.  Pleasures  are  not  required  by 
the  happy  :  just  in  proportion  as  the  blessings  of 
physical  and  moral  existence  are  generally  diffused 


400  MARGARET. 

and  enjoyed,  will  such  transient  excitement  be  held 
in  diminished  esteem.  There  could  hardly  be  a 
severer  infliction  to  a  serious  and  earnest  native  of 
New  England  than  to  be  required  to  enjoy  himself, 
as  it  is  called.  Such  a  penalty  might  be  advanta 
geously  substituted  for  the  treadmill  in  our  prisons ; 
for  no  person  who  had  once  suffered  under  the  dis 
cipline  would  put  himself  in  the  way  to  endure  it 
again.  It  is  not  that  recreations  are  not  wanted ; 
for,  here  as  elsewhere,  they  are  essential  to  the 
healthy  activity  of  the  mind  and  heart.  But  the 
same  pleasures  in  which  some  would  disport  them 
selves  luxuriously  would  drive  others  to  their  wit's 
end  with  weariness  and  disdain.  Men  must  unbend 
from  their  severe  cares  ;  but,  should  they  lift  up  their 
voices  to  sing,  "  Away  with  melancholy  !  "  it  would 
be  an  immediate  signal  for  that  unbidden  guest  to 
come.  Some  of  the  festivals  here  suggested  would 
bring  their  own  recommendation  with  them ;  such, 
for  example,  as  that  in  the  spring,  when  the  inhabi 
tants  of  the  village  renewed  the  flowers  in  the  ceme 
tery,  transplanted  ornamental  trees  into  the  streets, 
and  set  out  shrubbery  near  their  houses.  There 
must  be  some  object  and  design  in  a  celebration,  or 
it  will  soon  lose  its  place  in  the  public  mind.  This 
is  the  case  already  with  the  Fourth  of  July,  which 
has  fallen  into  general  decline,  because  it  has  refer 
ence  solely  to  the  past,  and  men  do  not  see  any  good 
which  its  observance  is  likely  to  do.  And,  in  the 
great  proportion  of  days  and  seasons  set  apart  for 
pleasure,  there  is  a  care-worn  perplexity  and  solemn 
hopelessness  in  the  expression  of  men's  faces,  which 


MARGARET. 


401 


indicates,  as  plainly  as  words  can  do,  that  "  the  heart 
distrusting  asks, -Can  this  be  joy  ?  " 

But,  without  extending  these  general  remarks,  we 
will  proceed  to  say  something  of  the  literary  charac 
ter  of  the  work,  so  far  as  it  is  possible  to  describe 
any  thing  so  unequal,  disjointed,  and  full  of  contrasts 
and  contradictions.  It  is  not  a  finished  or  satisfac 
tory  work,  though  it  is  evidently  written  by  a  man 
of  uncommon  ability ;  nor  is  it  pleasing,  though  there 
are  many  passages  which  one  reads  with  deep  in 
terest  and  delight.  Some  of  the  characters  are 
finely  conceived,  and  well  sustained  in  parts,  but 
not  self-consistent  throughout.  The  style  is  often 
rich  and  expressive,  and  again  it  is  slovenly,  snap 
pish,  and  jerking.  The  writer's  statement  of  his 
ideas  is  sometimes  clear  and  sharp  as  the  outline  of 
cut  tin,  and  then  shades  off  into  that  mystical  nothing 
ness  in  which  the  imagination  comes  out  and  sup 
plies  what  meaning  it  pleases.  The  opinions  are  in 
general  deliberate,  manly,  and  forbearing  ;  but  some 
times  they  tend  to  that  excess  and  exclusiveness 
which  so  much  disgrace  the  religion  and  philanthropy 
of  the  present  day,  destroying  all  their  loveliness, 
and  disarming  them  of  half  their  power.  So,  too, 
in  his  description  of  the  effect  of  Christian  principles, 
and  the  result  of  their  application  to  social  disorders, 
there  is  something  elevated  and  inspiring;  but  the 
impression  left  on  the  reader's  mind  is  cold  and  for 
bidding,  and  sympathy  is  not  awakened  in  any  pro 
portion  to  the  strength  and  sincerity  with  which  these 
great  thoughts  are  presented.  Altogether,  we  must 
say  that  we  think  more  highly  of  the  writer  than  his 
34* 


402  MARGARET. 

work.  His  talent  is  unquestionable  ;  but  there  is 
evidently  something  in  his  mental  constitution,  or  his 
acquired  habits  of  thought  and  feeling,  which  must 
be  changed,  before  he  can  make  the  world  acknow 
ledge,  indeed  before  he  can  make  himself  do  justice 
to,  his  powers. 

On  the  whole,  we  greatly  regret  that  the  idea  of 
this  work,  if  we  are  sure  that  we  understand  it,  had 
not  been  differently  carried  out  and  presented.  No 
thing  could  be  more  interesting  than  the  picture  of  a 
young  girl,  energetic  and  imaginative  from  her  birth, 
thrown  among  coarse  and  profane  associates,  and 
not  only  keeping  herself  from  contamination,  but 
maintaining  a  quiet  superiority  to  the  influences 
which  surround  her,  and  coming  into  life  with  a 
character  formed  by  the  agency  of  stronger  influ 
ences  from  within.  That  self-originated  conceptions 
of  the  Deity  and  of  human  relations  would  be  found 
in  her  heart,  is  not  so  sure  ;  but  it  might  be  assumed, 
and  the  portrait  drawn  accordingly  ;  and  she  might 
also  have  been  represented  as  indifferent  to  religion, 
because  of  the  associations  of  severity,  gloom,  and 
hollowness  which  had  become  connected  with  it  in 
her  mind  from  the  sight  of  its  unworthy  disciples ; 
though  this  is  not  common.  It  is  not  the  simple,  nor 
even  the  sensual,  but  those  who  are  looking  for  argu 
ments  against  religion,  who  hold  it  responsible  for 
what  Christians  are,  and  for  all  that  it  pleases  them 
to  do.  If,  in  the  moral  and  intellectual  solitude 
where  she  dwelt,  with  unsympathizing  beings  around 
her,  great  thoughts,  lofty  conceptions,  and  heavenly 
feelings,  should  have  arisen  in  her  breast;  and  if, 


MARGARET. 


403 


when  Christianity  was  first  presented  to  her  in  its 
purity  and  loveliness,  she  should  have  recognized  in 
it  the  ideal  of  her  dreams,  the  beautiful  mystery 
which  she  had  all  the  while  been  learning  to  love, 
the  finished  portrait  of  that  which  she  had  seen  in  a 
glass  darkly  in  the  silent  chambers  of  her  soul ;  and 
if,  finding  a  new  inspiration  from  this  fulfilment  of 
her  hopes  and  visions,  she  had  gone  out  to  exert  an 
influence,  by  means  of  sympathy,  on  all  around  her, 
with  no  wealth  to  buy,  nor  power  to  overawe,  im 
pressing  and  interesting  others,  till  the  changed  feel 
ing  and  aspect  of  the  community  where  she  lived 
bore  testimony  to  the  wonders  love  can  do,  —  we 
should  have  had  a  work  of  a  character  far  more 
attractive  and  useful  than  the  present,  and  offering  a 
better  field  for  the  author's  peculiar  powers.  We 
regret,  therefore,  that,  instead  of  the  more  simple 
development  of  this  idea,  it  should  have  been  given 
in  this  unreal  and  impracticable  form ;  in  which,  be 
sides  the  impression  constantly  made  on  the  reader 
that  no  such  being  ever  existed,  the  improbability  is 
heightened  by  the  language  put  into  her  mouth,  — 
language  which  it  is  grievously  unjust  to  the  school 
masters  of  a  former  generation  to  ascribe  to  their 
teaching  or  example,  when  it  is  only  an  euphuism  of 
the  present  day,  which  is  perfectly  unaccountable  in 
some  able  men  who  use  it,  though  it  answers  good 
purpose  to  those  pretenders  who  would  cover  up 
their  defect  of  meaning  with  a  jargon  of  strange 
sight  and  sound.  We  cannot  tell  why  this  author, 
who,  in  his  own  person,  generally  employs  nervous 
and  expressive  terms,  should  have  defaced  his  most 


404 


MARGARET. 


prominent  and  interesting  character  by  making  her 
speak  in  a  dialect  which  resembles  nothing  ever 
heard  in  the  social  world,  and  which  is  wholly  out 
of  nature  in  a  village-girl,  whatever  the  accidental 
circumstances  of  her  education  may  have  been.  It 
destroys  the  beauty  and  truth  of  the  conception  ; 
we  feel  that  she  could  have  had  no  real  existence  ; 
when,  but  for  this,  and  the  needless  touches  of 
coarseness  which  we  have  mentioned,  the  idea  of  her 
character  might  have  been  original,  beautiful,  and 
true. 

But  we  have  no  time  to  dwell  farther  on  the  de 
velopment  of  character  in  this  singular  book.  There 
are  other  parts  which  seem  more  natural  to  the 
author's  taste  and  habits  of  thought ;  those,  for  ex 
ample,  in  which  he  describes  the  rich  loveliness  of 
the  landscape,  and  the  various  influences  by  which 
it  acts  upon  the  heart.  Here  he  is  more  at  home ; 
he  has  a  discerning  eye  for  the  wonderful  variety  of 
its  treasures  ;  and  he  has  evidently  felt  the  power 
of  those  inaudible  tones  in  which  it  addresses  all 
who  have  an  ear  to  hear  them.  He  has  noted  every 
crimson  berry  and  red  leaf  of  autumn,  and  all  the 
green  plants  and  opening  flowers  of  spring.  He 
seems  to  be  on  terms  of  intimacy  with  all  the  birds 
of  the  air  :  from  the  lightest  glance  of  a  wing,  or  the 
faintest  snatches  of  song,  he  is  able  to  detect  them 
afar.  The  stillness  of  the  deep  forest,  grand  and 
solemn  in  its  aspect  and  its  sounds,  but  abounding 
in  animated  existence,  heavy  and  oppressive  as  it 
is  to  the  many,  is  best  society  to  him.  We  know 
not  where  any  could  go  to  find  more  exact  and 


MARGARET.  405 

pleasing  descriptions  of  the  scenery  of  New  Eng 
land,  or  of  the  vegetable  and  animal  forms  which 
give  it  life,  than  to  the  work  before  us ;  and  the  lan 
guage  in  which  he  sets  them  forth,  though  he  often 
invents  a  dialect  for  his  purpose  which  would  have 
startled  even  Noah  Webster,  had  he  lived  to  hear  it, 
is  felt  to  be  such  as  one  would  employ  who  was 
gazing  or  listening  with  delight,  and  wanted  words 
of  power  to  express  his  strong  emotions.  To  this 
part  of  his  work,  though  there  is  some  slight  con 
fusion  of  seasons,  we  give  the  heartiest  praise. 

We  wish  that  we  could  have  found  the  same  full 
sympathy  for  humanity  manifested  in  this  writer's  de 
scriptions  of  social  life,  which  breathes  through  the 
sentiments  which  he  expresses.  Yet  it  is  not  uncom 
mon  to  find  this  interest  in  social  reforms,  and  desire 
to  advance  the  welfare  of  mankind,  evidently  sincere 
too,  in  those  who  do  not  give  the  impression  of  quick 
sympathy  with  individuals.  Perhaps  it  is,  that  the 
sharp  observation  which  searches  out  at  a  glance 
the  whole  of  the  character  has  a  natural  tendency  to 
caricature ;  faults  and  follies,  even  when  slight  and 
easily  forgiven,  are  often  so  ridiculous  and  annoying 
as  to  destroy  our  respect  for  that  which  well  deserves 
it ;  and  it  is  on  this  account,  perhaps,  that  this  author, 
observing  as  he  is,  has  done  less  justice  to  what  is 
amiable  and  excellent  in  the  character  of  New  Eng 
land  men  than  might  be  expected  in  one  who  has 
such  a  taste  for  the  beautiful  and  the  good.  His 
character  is  often  disguised  by  un gracefulness  of 
speech  and  manner ;  it  is  very  seldom  ostentatiously 
paraded  for  applause ;  still  it  should  be  visible  to  all 


406  MARGARET. 

clear  and  earnest  eyes,  and  is  a  subject  on  which  every 
heart  in  its  right  place  might  rejoice  to  dwell. 

As  a  representation  of  manners  as  they  were,  and 
in  many  respects  are  still,  in  New  England,  this  book 
is  of  great  value.  It  is  a  succession  of  pictures,  full 
of  life,  and  though  somewhat  overdrawn,  not  the  less 
giving  life-like  imaginations  of  many  scenes  which 
will  soon  cease  to  be.  Such  is  the  "  Training-day," 
which  was  formerly  a  high  festival,  but  has  lost  much 
of  its  hold  on  the  reverence  and  affection  of  the  peo 
ple  ;  and  there  is  little  prospect  that  its  former  glory 
will  ever  be  restored.  We  think  our  author  makes 
rather  too  much  of  our  militia-system,  not  in  the  way 
of  excessive  interest,  but  rather  on  the  opposite  side. 
It  does  not  strike  us,  that  our  train-bands  are  much  in 
danger  of  breaking  the  sixth  commandment ;  blood 
and  carnage  are  not  the  associations  connected  in  our 
minds  with  their  exhibitions  ;  as  Miss  Martineau  says 
of  them,  everybody  knows  that  they  can  fight  when 
they  see  reason,  but  we  do  not  think  them  more  likely 
to  rush  into  the  battle  from  their  indulging  in  this 
harmless  and  peaceable  display. 

There  was  danger  of  another  sort  formerly  con 
nected  with  these  celebrations,  which  was  indeed 
more  serious,  and  under  which  many  went  down  to 
rise  no  more.  The  author  has  given  a  strong  de 
scription  of  the  excitement  and  intemperance  of  those 
occasions  in  former  days.  The  latter  vice,  which  was 
once  so  general,  or  rather  the  means  of  which  were 
then  so  general,  furnishes  a  frequent  theme  for  sar 
castic  remark  and  severe  description.  There  are 
very  few  passages  anywhere  more  powerful  than  the 


MARGARET.  407 

account  of  the  dark  and  hateful  "  still."  The  poor 
child  left  alone  in  such  a  place  at  night,  with  an 
intoxicated  brother,  a  roaring  furnace,  a  hissing  cal 
dron,  barrels  of  detestable  drink  all  round  her,  and 
frightful  shadows  thrown  by  the  angry  fire,  which, 
fed  by  dry  hemlock,  sounded  like  subterranean  mus 
ketry,  arid  threw  out  burning  splinters  on  her  sleep 
ing  brother's  face, — -'are  brought  before  us  as  by  a 
master's  hand.  But,  while  we  entirely  approve  the 
tone  in  which  he  speaks  on  this  subject  at  large,  we 
think  he  has  fallen  into  the  error  so  common  with 
communities  and  individuals  when  suddenly  re 
formed, —  that  of  representing  their  former  state 
as  worse  than  it  really  was.  Bad  enough  in  con 
science  it  was ;  but  New  England  was  not  quite 
transformed  into  one  vast  bar-room.  Many,  many 
there  were  who  walked  unhurt  amidst  the  flames ; 
and  the  inspiring  manner  in  which  the  general  feeling 
rose  against  the  destroyer,  and  the  energy  of  will 
exerted  to  resist  it,  showed  that  the  heart  of  the  peo 
ple  was  still  sound,  and  there  was  hope  for  the  days 
to  come. 

With  respect  to  another  great  evil,  war,  which,  as 
the  author  shows,  is  not  according  to  the  spirit  of  the 
gospel,  we  do  not  think  his  course  in  the  narrative 
so  happy.  His  feeling  is  earnestly  opposed  to  this 
practice,  not  only  as  a  desolating  evil,  but  a  deadly 
sin.  But  an  onslaught  upon  the  militia  is  not  the 
sort  of  crusading  expedition  which  is  likely  to  reach 
it :  not  only  the  town  of  Livingston,  but  the  whole 
country,  might  be  exempted  from  military  duty, 
without  any  approach  to  that  state  of  peace  and 


408  MARGARET. 

general  good-will  which  Christianity  is  destined  to 
bring.  But  this  subject  seerns  in  a  way  to  be 
brought  up  as  a  theme  for  intelligent  and  interested 
discussion  :  instead  of  being  taken  into  the  keeping 
of  a  party,  it  will  be  investigated  by  active  and 
powerful  minds.  The  public  will  at  length  be  firmly 
established  in  some  convictions  which  will  affect  the 
proceedings  of  nations  ;  a  work  which  the  feeling  of 
a  sect  would  never  be  able  to  do.  The  duty  of  not 
resisting  evil,  —  how  far  does  it  go  ?  Is  the  Saviour's 
charge,  "  Resist  not  evil,"  to  be  understood  like 
another  near  it,  "  Give  to  him  that  asketh  thee  "  ?  or 
is  it  to  be  followed  in  full,  and  without  reserve  ? 
Have  we  a  right  to  resist  evil  with  our  tongues, 
while  our  hands  are  bound  ?  or  may  we  take  com 
fort  in  our  self-denial,  by  abusing  others  with  the 
hardest  words  which  the  language  affords  ?  Does 
this  obligation  extend  only  to  cases  in  which  life  is 
concerned  ?  and  what  gives  the  right  to  deprive 
others  of  liberty,  while  the  life  may  not  be  taken 
away  ?  If  evil  may  not  be  resisted  in  one  way,  can 
it  be  in  another  ?  and,  if  not,  how  is  any  social  sys 
tem  to  hold  together  for  a  day  ?  These  are  ques 
tions,  lying  under  this  matter,  which  need  to  be 
patiently  sifted,  and  made  clear  to  the  public  mind, 
before  it  can  reach  a  full  understanding  of  this  whole 
subject  of  war.  And,  since  no  partial  views  will 
accomplish  any  thing  more  than  imperfect  reforms, 
it  is  well  that  this  subject  is  not  likely  to  be  chaired 
like  a  candidate  at  an  English  election,  but  debated 
wisely  and  wilhout  passion  by  manly  and  indepen 
dent  minds. 


MARGARET.  409 

The  subject  of  capital  punishment,  which  is  of 
near  kindred  to  the  former,  is  here  introduced  in  the 
fate  of  Chilion,  the  early  friend  of  Margaret,  whom 
she  had  always  regarded  as  a  brother.  His  charac 
ter  is  finely  sustained  throughout,  except  in  the  single 
incident  —  for  it  could  hardly  be  called  an  action  — 
which  brought  his  life  to  a  close.  A  husking  frolic, 
the  festival  which  answers  to  the  harvest-home  of 
other  countries,  was  followed  by  a  supper,  which  is 
the  greatest  failure  in  all  the  work.  The  revels 
ended  in  furious  intoxication ;  and  Chilion,  seeing  a 
young  man  apparently  offering  some  insult  to  Mar 
garet,  and  urged  on  by  the  reproaches  of  Rose,  who 
had  drunk  something  more  than  the  dews  of  night, 
threw  a  file  at  the  offender,  which  severed  an  artery 
of  his  neck,  and  inflicted  a  wound  of  which  he  bled 
to  death.  The  author  found  a  jury,  though  to  a 
sheriff  it  might  have  been  a  difficult  matter,  who 
brought  in  a  verdict  of  wilful  murder,  and  the  judge 
pronounced  the  sentence  of  the  law.  There  are 
some  natural  and  affecting  scenes  in  the  prison,  but 
we  cannot  say  so  much  of  the  condemnation :  it  is 
ruined  by  the  unnatural  talk  of  Margaret  in  her 
raving,  which  falls  like  ice  upon  the  reader's  excited 
feeling.  But  the  question  of  capital  punishment  is 
not  reached  by  such  an  imaginary  case  as  this. 
Evidently  nothing  could  be  more  absurd  than  such 
a  penalty  inflicted  on  such  a  person,  where  it  was 
obvious  that  he  could  not  have  intended  to  give  a 
fatal  wound.  The  question  is,  whether  capital 
punishment  can  be  dispensed  with.  It  is  not  to  the 
purpose  to  say,  that  "  the  worst  use  you  can  put  a 
35 


410  MARGARET. 

man  to  is  to  hang  him ;  "  for  this,  though  doubtless 
a  smart  saying,  would  apply  equally  well  to  shutting 
him  up  in  a  jail.  When  the  truth  is  made  clear  that 
this  fearful  penalty  does  not  answer  its  purpose,  or 
that  some  others  can  be  resorted  to  instead  of  it,  the 
public  mind  will  be  ready  to  surrender  it ;  but,  if  this 
is  not  done,  it  must  endure  till  it  is  displaced  by  the 
advance  of  civilization,  which  has  many  remains  of 
barbarism  yet  hanging  round  it,  but  will  sooner  or 
later  lose  all  its  taste  for  blood. 

If  the  impressions  of  the  readers  of  this  book  are 
like  ours,  they  have  thought  the  author  superior  to 
his  work ;  which,  though  it  abounds  in  proofs  of 
talent,  has  many  things  that  to  some  must  impair,  to 
others  utterly  destroy,  its  attraction.  If  he  is  one  of 
those  who  feel  no  respect  for  prevailing  sentiments  in 
matters  of  taste,  he  may  persist  in  his  own  way, 
which,  as  it  is  now,  will  not  lead  him  to  a  throne 
in  men's  minds  and  hearts.  But  if  he  will  pay 
deference  to  established  modes  of  communication, 
which,  though  they  might  be  improved,  are  at 
present  the  only  channels  through  which  extensive 
influence  can  be  exerted,  he  may  gain  for  himself  a 
brilliant  reputation,  and,  what  is  more  to  his  purpose, 
he  may  be  a  powerful  and  successful  instrument  for 
bringing  about  those  reforms  which  he  evidently  has 
at  heart,  and  which  will  be  triumphantly  accom 
plished  in  happier  days  than  ours. 


POETRY 


POETRY. 


TO  THE  MEMORY  OF  A  YOUNG  LADY, 


SEEN     FOR     THE     FIKST     TIME     ON     A     SPRING     MORNING. 


I  LOVE  the  memory  of  the  hour 

When  first  in  youth  I  found  thee ; 
For  infant  beauty  gently  threw 

A  morning  freshness  round  thee. 
A  single  star  was  rising  then 

With  mild  and  lovely  motion, 
And  scarce  the  zephyr's  mildest  breath 

Went  o'er  the  sleeping  ocean. 

I  love  the  memory  of  that  hour : 

It  wakes  a  pensive  feeling, 
As  when  within  the  winding  shell 

The  playful  winds  are  stealing. 
It  tells  my  heart  of  those  bright  years 

Ere  hope  went  down  in  sorrow, 
When  all  the  joys  of  yesterday 

Were  painted  on  to-morrow. 
35* 


414      TO  THE  MEMORY  OF  A  YOUNG  LADY. 

Where  art  thou  now  ?     Thy  once-loved  flowers 

Their  yellow  leaves  are  twining, 
And  bright  and  beautiful  again 

That  single  star  is  shining. 
But  where  art  thou  ?     The  bended  grass 

A  dewy  stone  discloses, 
And  love's  light  footsteps  print  the  ground 

Where  all  my  peace  reposes. 

Farewell !  my  tears  are  not  for  thee  : 

'Twere  weakness  to  deplore  thee, 
Or  vainly  mourn  thine  absence  here, 

While  angels  half  adore  thee. 
Thy  days  were  few,  and  quickly  told ; 

Thy  short  and  mournful  story 
Hath  ended  like  the  morning  star, 

That  melts  in  deeper  glory. 

1816. 


415 


THE  DEPARTURE. 


How  slow  and  peacefully  the  broad  red  moon 
Glides  down  the  bending  sky  !     All  still ! 
She  seems  to  smile  upon  those  sounding  waves 
That  lift  their  thundering  voices  to  the  heaven, 
As  if  they  mourned  her  solitude  of  march 
Above  the  waste  of  waters.     But  now  she  leans 
Upon  their  breast,  and  pours  her  liberal  ray : 
The  distant  mountains  drink  the  yellow  light, 
The  dark-red  rocks  extend  their  giant-shades, 
Long  paths  of  glory  kindle  in  the  deep, 
And  there  far-shadowed  on  the  sea-beat  shore 
The  silent  forests  on  their  aged  head 
Receive  the  glittering  crown ;  or,  dimly  seen, 
Some  small  white  sail  flings  up  an  airy  glance, 
And  smiles  a  light  farewell. 

The  lantern  glimmers  on  the  distant  beach ; 
The  barge  stands  waiting  for  its  outward  flight ; 
Those  hurrying  forms  exchange  a  short  embrace ; 
Some  as  in  sorrow  slowly  move  away, 
While  others  leap  with  gay  and  youthful  bound 
Where  the  shrill  whistle  loudly  calls  away 
To  the  wide  ocean,  their  familiar  home. 
The  light  boat  dances  by  the  unbending  side 
Of  that  black  ship  that  sideway  slowly  swings  ; 
Her  streamers  winding  in  the  playful  breeze, 
Her  broad  sail  heaving  in  the  midnight  air. 


416  THE    DEPARTURE. 

And  who  is  she,  the  lovely  form,  that  leans 
Intensely  gazing  on  the  weltering  waves  ? 
Is  it  that,  musing  on  their  stormy  play 
In  the  forgetfulness  of  youthful  joy, 
Her  home,  her  friends,  her  country,  all  depart  ? 
Or,  in  the  anguish  of  the  parting  hour, 
Dares  she  not  even  indulge  in  one  last  glance 
Where  the  still  moonbeam  in  its  dewy  light 
Sleeps  on  the  boundary  of  the  far-off  hills  ? 
Within  the  friendly  circle  of  those  hills, 
For  ever  open  to  the  smile  of  heaven, 
She  leaves  a  peaceful  home. 

There,  in  the  freshness  of  the  youthful  spring, 
Together  we  have  drunk  the  gales  of  morn, 
When  we  have  followed  the  new-opened  flower, 
Our  light  steps  dashing  from  the  bended  grass 
The  dew-drops  reddening  in  the  rising  sun, 
When  Autumn  hung  upon  the  dying  year 
Her  pensive  wreath  so  wild,  so  fanciful ; 
Together  we  have  marked  the  evening  cloud, 
When  the  bright  ridges  of  the  western  hill 
Seemed  slowly  melting  in  the  burning  heaven ; 
Together  we  have  watched  the  star  of  love 
Walking  with  lonely  step  the  silent  blue, 
Before  the  deep-thronged  armies  of  the  night 
Began  their  pathway  up  the  glowing  skies. 
Oh !  there  was  rapture  in  that  pensive  hour, 
There  was  deep  harmony  in  nature's  silence ; 
For  angels  breathe  their  anthems  on  the  heart, 
That  walks  its  circle  on  the  waves  of  life, 
As  peacefully  as  thine. 

There,  in  the  winter  night, 


THE    DEPARTURE.  417 

The  deep  storm,  rushing  on  the  sounding  blast, 
Howls  round  the  windows  of  thy  former  home. 
Within,  the  embers  cast  a  fitful  glow ; 
The  tall  shade  trembles  on  the  dusky  wall, 
And  the  red  fire-light  on  each  cheerful  face 
Paints  the  calm  lines  of  innocence  and  peace. 
One  chair  is  vacant !  how  it  wakes  the  thought 
That  hurries  onward  to  the  ocean-stream, 
And  swiftly  follows  in  thy  venturous  way, 
Till  from  the  rapture  of  the  dream  we  wake, 
Wondering  thou  art  not  there :   and  when  we  bow 
With  reverent  heart,  and  raise  the  nightly  prayer 
When  the  fond  soul  bears  all  its  loves  to  heaven, 
We  breathe  thy  name  with  many  a  fond  desire 
That  He  whose  spirit  is  on  the  stormy  wave, 
Who  rules  the  heaven,  and  dwells  in  virtuous  hearts, 
Would  still  remember  thee. 

Oft  at  night, 

In  the  wild  fancies  of  the  troubled  sleep, 
When  rosy-fingered  spirits  wind  the  dream 
Around  the  slumberer's  heart,  thy  well-known  bark 
With  homeward  step  shall  walk  the  joyous  waves, 
And  dash  the  kindling  spray ;  the  mariner 
Breathe  in  the  freshness  of  his  native  airs, 
And  pour  the  fulness  of  his  grateful  heart 
In  the  inspiring  song :   thou  too  art  there, 
Thy  dark  hair  floating  on  the  morning  wind, 
Thy  bright  eye  fixed  with  long  and  burning  gaze 
On  thy  dear  native  home ;  then,  while  I  mark 
The  passionate  laugh,  the  recognizing  glance, 
The  airy  vessel  calmly  melts  away. 
Then  the  black  terrors  of  the  storm  arise, 
Waked  by  the  echoes  of  the  angry  sea ; 


418  THE    DEPARTURE. 

The  lightning-flash  throws  wide  its  gusty  light, 
The  deep-mouthed  thunder  rolls  its  rattling  wheels, 
A  far-off  cry  expires  upon  the  seas ! 
Was  it  the  music  of  the  passing  bell 
Swelling  the  cadence  of  the  dying  gale  ? 
A  shade  at  first;  but  now,  too  plainly  seen, 
She  floats  upon  the  white  edge  of  the  wave ; 
The  morning  light  is  on  her  marble  face ; 
The  wind  lifts  playfully  her  flowing  hair 
In  gay  embrace ;  her  pale  extended  arm, 
Heaved  with  the  rolling  of  the  element, 
Invites  me  with  a  slow  mysterious  motion, 
How  dreadful  in  the  eloquence  of  death  ! 
As  in  the  ruins  of  that  lovely  form 
Affection  lingered  still.     But  thou,  my  friend, 
Whom  we  lament  with  unavailing  tears, 
Art  numbered  in  the  heaven :  no  tear  profane, 
No  sad  remembrance,  lingers  there  to  dim 
Thine  own  excelling  glory. 

Only  a  dream !  and  thou  mayest  still  return 

To  that  loved  home,  whose  well-remembered  charms 

Long  years  of  absence  have  not  worn  away : 

But  the  warm  friends  of  youth  shall  not  be  there, 

And  strange  inhabitants  shall  coldly  tell 

How  the  old  tenants  of  that  happy  place 

Have  closed  their  eyes  in  peace ;  their  parting  breath 

Spent  in  last  blessings  on  their  favorite  child, 

On  her,  the  far-away ;  and  he,  the  one 

Who  heard  the  accents  of  thy  last  farewell. 

And  loved  thee  with  a  never-failing  love, 

Went  to  the  grave  alone. 


419 


LINES  ON  DYING. 


MY  hour  is  come  ;  but  no  unthought-of  hour, 

Whose  gloomy  presence  chills  my  soul  with  dread. 

It  steals  as  gently  o'er  my  weary  heart, 

As  the  fond  parent's  footsteps  round  the  cradle 

Where  innocent  beauty  sleeps.     I've  looked  for  it 

Since  the  first  opening  of  my  youthful  mind : 

Sometimes  in  hours  of  gladness  would  the  thought, 

Calmly  as  angels'  voices  heard  in  dreams, 

Forbid  the  unmeaning  laugh  of  careless  joy, 

And  melt  each  feeling  into  pensive  sadness. 

Sometimes  in  midnight  musings,  when  the  soul 

Was  weary  of  existence,  it  would  come 

In  many  a  flash  of  wild  and  strange  delight, 

I  found  no  pleasure  in  the  youthful  spring, 

Nor  the  bright  kindlings  of  the  morning  cloud ; 

My  spirit  lingered  on  the  waning  year, 

On  the  last  blushes  of  the  sunset  heaven, 

And  the  red  leaf  that  whispered  it  must  fall. 

I  loved  to  gaze  on  beauty,  —  but  'twas  not 

The  airy  form,  and  features  bright  with  smiles, 

But  the  pale  cheek  where  death  had  gently  laid 

His  first  light  touch,  and  left  it  lovely  still. 

I've  lain  for  hours  beneath  the  aged  tree 

That  casts  its  shadow  o'er  the  homes  of  death, 

When  evening  sunshine  slept  on  every  leaf, 

And  all  around  was  still ;   I've  marked  the  graves, 

Some  nameless  as  I  would  my  own  should  be, 


420  LINES    ON    DYING. 

Some  graved  with  all  the  high  parade  of  death, 

Some  with  low  stones  and  moss  fast  creeping  o'er  them, 

As  cold  oblivion  gathers  o'er  the  names 

Of  those  who  rest  below  ;  then  I  dismissed 

Life  and  its  changes  from  my  heart  awhile, 

And  thought  of  death  till  it  became  familiar. 

I  thought  the  humblest  unremembered  one 

Was  laid  there  with  a  sigh,  —  some  with  warm  tears, 

Some  with  the  grief  that  time  could  never  heal, 

With  love  enduring  as  the  aching  heart, 

Whose  love  became  despair ;  and  could  it  be, 

That  souls  once  full  of  high  and  heavenly  musing, 

Souls  that  could  chain  affection  to  their  graves, 

Were  mingling  with  the  dust  that  closed  them  in  ? 

No  :  the  long  grass  springs  yearly  from  their  bed, 

The  violet  there  renews  its  tender  flower, 

And  sure  the  image  of  the  heavenly  nature 

Is  durable  as  they  :   oh  !  you  may  close  the  coffin, 

Heap  high  the  earth  upon  their  breast,  or  bind 

The  rocky  arches  of  the  ponderous  tomb  ; 

The  soul  will  burst  its  bondage,  —  yes,  will  smile 

At  those  memorials  man  felt  bound  to  raise, 

While  it  springs  upward  to  its  native  home. 

Oft  in  its  loneliest  watches  of  the  night, 
When  silence  rested  on  the  slumbering  world, 
When  the  leaf  stirred  not ;  but,  serene  in  heaven, 
The  moon  and  stars  went  on  their  glorious  way, 
And  the  winds  dared  not  breathe  while  earth  lay  still, 
And  wondered  at  their  beauty,  —  I  have  thought 
If,  when  the  weary  cares  of  life  are  ended, 
My  spirit  might  have  rest  in  fields  of  light, 
And  dwell  in  mansions  calm  and  blest  as  they. 
Why  might  it  not  ?  'tis  clay  that  binds  it  down. 


LINES    ON    DYING.  421 

But  oft  even  now  the  spirit  throws  off  its  chains, 
And  hurries  upward  through  the  vast  of  heaven, 
Beyond  heaven's  utmost  bounds,  —  even  now  it  ranges 
Beyond  the  farthest  star,  whose  fainting  ray 
Seems  trembling  into  darkness,  and  borrows  thence 
Emotions  deep  and  strong  imaginings, 
With  thoughts  more  beautiful  than  earth  affords, 
And  finds  a  friend  in  each  bright  wanderer  there. 

Then  surely  when  the  bands  of  clay  are  loosed, 
And  the  strong  prison  of  the  soul  is  broken, 
It  will  rise  high  above  its  boldest  flight, 
Above  its  cares,  above  its  joys  and  sorrows  ; 
And  rest  not  till  it  breathes  the  heavenly  air, 
And  folds  its  pinions  at  the  throne  of  God. 

Then  welcome  death !  the  valley's  clods  are  sweet. 
The  once  faint  heart  is  mightier  than  the  grave. 
Lay  me  to  rest  beneath  the  aged  tree 
Which  many  a  year  hath  bent  its  hoary  head 
In  musing  o'er  those  small  round  hills  of  green, 
While  many  a  ruin  of  the  form  divine, 
The  young  and  beautiful,  the  old  and  gray, 
Have  sunk  in  frailty  at  the  glance  of  death, 
And  hands  as  frail  have  borne  them  to  their  rest. 
There  oft  I  went  at  evening's  hour  of  peace, 
Looked  o'er  the  field  so  widely  ridged  with  graves, 
And  sadly  pondered  what  it  is  to  die. 

Years  have  passed  by  :   the  ground  is  even  now  ; 
But  there  I  fain  would  lay  me  down  to  sleep 
Where  no  rude  foot  shall  break  the  holy  calm, 
No  sound  be  wakeful  but  the  night-wind's  sigh 
When  the  red  leaves  are  withering  on  my  bed. 
36 


422  LINES    ON    DYING. 

There  the  cold  moon  shall  pour  her  gilding  light, 
And  star-beams  glimmer  through  the  twining  boughs, 
Above  his  rest  who  loved  their  beauty  well. 

The  humblest  one  receives  a  farewell  sigh, 
And  my  departure  may  call  forth  a  tear ; 
For  in  this  dark  world  man  can  weep  for  man. 
But  let  no  pageant  of  unmeaning  grief, 
No  mourning  train,  in  all  the  pride  of  sorrow, 
Go  with  my  ashes  to  their  place  of  rest ; 
And  let  no  stone  oppress  them :  years  may  pass, 
And  friends  forget  where  they  have  laid  me  down ; 
But  let  me  never  raise  the  marble  prayer 
To  ask  remembrance  from  the  stranger's  heart, 
When  love  grows  cold,  and  tears  have  ceased  to  now. 

1822. 


423 


THE  LAND   OF  THE  BLEST. 


OH  !  when  the  hours  of  life  are  past, 
And  death's  dark  shadow  falls  at  last, 
It  is  not  sleep,  it  is  not  rest : 
'Tis  glory  opening  to  the  blest. 

Their  way  to  heaven  was  pure  from  sin, 
And  Christ  shall  then  receive  them  in ; 
There  each  shall  wear  a  robe  of  light, 
Like  his,  divinely  fair  and  bright. 

There  parted  hearts  again  shall  meet 
In  union  holy,  calm,  and  sweet ; 
There  grief  find  rest,  and  never  more 
Shall  sorrow  call  them  to  deplore. 

There  angels  shall  unite  their  prayers 
With  spirits  bright  and  blest  as  theirs ; 
And  light  shall  glance  on  every  crown, 
From  suns  that  never  more  go  down. 

No  storms  shall  ride  the  troubled  air, 
No  voice  of  passion  enter  there  ; 
But  all  be  peaceful  as  the  sigh 
Of  evening  gales  that  breathe  and  die. 

For  there  the  God  of  mercy  sheds 
His  purest  influence  on  their  heads, 
And  gilds  the  spirits  round  the  throne 
With  glory  radiant  as  his  own. 


424 


THE  RISING  MOON. 


THE  moon  is  up  !  how  calm  and  slow 
She  wheels  above  the  hill ! 

The  weary  winds  forget  to  blow, 
And  all  the  world  lies  still. 

The  way-worn  travellers  with  delight 

Her  rising  brightness  see  ; 
Revealing  all  the  paths  and  plains, 

And  gilding  every  tree. 

It  glistens  where  the  hurrying  stream 

Its  little  rippling  heaves  ; 
It  falls  upon  the  forest-shade, 

And  sparkles  on  the  leaves. 

So  once  on  Judah's  evening  hills 
The  heavenly  lustre  spread  ; 

The  gospel  sounded  from  the  blaze, 
And  shepherds  gazed  with  dread. 

And  still  that  light  upon  the  world 
Its  guiding  splendor  throws, 

Bright  in  the  opening  hours  of  life, 
And  brighter  at  the  close. 

The  waning  moon  in  time  shall  fail 
To  walk  the  midnight  skies ; 

But  God  hath  kindled  this  bright  light 
With  fire  that  never  dies. 


425 


AUTUMN  EVENING. 


BEHOLD  the  western  evening  light ! 

It  melts  in  deepening  gloom : 
So  calmly  Christians  sink  away, 

Descending  to  the  tomb. 

The  wind  breathes  low  ;  the  withering  leaf 
Scarce  whispers  from  the  tree : 

So  gently  flows  the  parting  breath, 
When  good  men  cease  to  be. 

How  beautiful  on  all  the  hills 

The  crimson  light  is  shed ! 
'Tis  like  the  peace  the  Christian  gives 

To  mourners  round  his  bed. 

How  mildly  on  the  wandering  cloud 

The  sunset  beam  is  cast ! 
'Tis  like  the  memory  left  behind 

When  loved  ones  breathe  their  last. 

And  now  above  the  dews  of  night 

The  yellow  star  appears  : 
So  faith  springs  in  the  hearts  of  those 

Whose  eyes  are  bathed  in  tears. 

But  soon  the  morning's  happier  light 

Its  glory  shall  restore  ; 
And  eyelids  that  are  sealed  in  death 

Shall  wake  to  close  no  more. 
36* 


426 


LAMENT  OF  ANASTASIUS. 


The  idea  of  the  following  lines  is  taken  from  that  beautiful  passage  in 
"  Anastasius,"  in  which  he  is  represented  lamenting  the  death  of  his  child 
Alexis :  — 


IT  was  but  yesterday,  my  love,  thy  little  heart  beat  high, 
And  I  had  scorned  the  warning  voice  that  told  me  thou 

must  die ; 
I  saw  thee  move  with  active  bound,  with  spirits  light  and 

free, 
And  infant  grace  and  beauty  gave  their  glorious  charm  to 

thee. 

Upon  the  dewy  field  I  saw  thine  early  footsteps  fly, 
Unfettered  as   the  matin  bird  that  cleaves   the   radiant 

sky; 
And  often  as   the   sunrise   gale  blew  back  thy   shining 

hair, 
Thy  cheek  displayed  the   red-rose  tinge  that  health  had 

painted  there. 

Then,  withered  as  my  heart  had  been,  I  could  not  but 

rejoice 

To  hear  upon  the  morning  wind  the  music  of  thy  voice, 
Now  echoing  in  the  careless  laugh,  now  melting  down  to 

tears : 
'Twas  like  the  sounds  I  used  to  hear  in  old  and  happier 

years. 


LAMENT    OF    ANASTASIUS.  427 

Thanks  for  that  memory  to  thee,  my  lovely  little  boy  ! 
'Tis  all  remains  of  former  bliss  that  care  cannot  destroy ; 
I  listened,  as  the  mariner  suspends  the  out-bound  oar 
To  taste  the  farewell  gale  that  blows  from  off  his  native 
shore. 

I  loved  thee,  and  my  heart  was  blest ;  but,  ere  the  day  was 

spent, 

I  saw  thy  light  and  graceful  form  in  drooping  illness  bent, 
And  shuddered  as  I  cast  a  look  upon  the  fainting  head, 
For  all  the  glow  of  health  was  gone,  and  life  was  almost 

fled. 

One  glance  upon  thy  marble  brow  made  known  that  hope 

was  vain ; 

I  knew  the  swiftly  wasting  lamp  would  never  light  again  ; 
Thy  cheek  was  pale,  thy  snow-white   lips  were  gently 

thrown  apart, 
And  life  in  every  passing  breath  seemed  gushing  from  the 

heart. 

And,  when  I  could  not  keep  the  tear  from  gathering  in 

my  eye, 

Thy  little  hand  prest  gently  mine  in  token  of  reply ; 
To  ask  one  more  exchange  of  love,  thy  look  was  upward 

cast, 
And  in  that  long  and  burning  kiss  thy  happy  spirit  passed. 

I  trusted  I  should  not  have  lived  to  bid  farewell  to  thee, 
And  nature  in  my  heart  declares  it  ought  not  so  to  be ; 
I  hoped  that  thou  within  the  grave  my  weary  head  should 

lay, 
And  live  beloved  when  I  was  gone  for  many  a  happy 

day. 


428  LAMENT    OF    ANASTASJUS. 

With  trembling  hand  I  vainly  tried  thy  dying  eyes  to 

close, 

And  how  I  envied  in  that  hour  thy  calm  and  deep  repose  ! 
For  I  was  left  alone  on  earth,  with  pain  and  grief  opprest ; 
And  thou  wert  with  the  sainted,  where  the  weary  are  at 

rest. 

Yes !  I  am  left  alone  on  earth  ;  but  I  will  not  repine 
Because  a  spirit  loved  so  well  is  earlier  blest  than  mine : 
My  fate  may  darken  as  it  will,  I  shall  not  much  deplore, 
Since  thou  art  where  the  ills  of  life  can  never  reach  thee 
more. 

1823. 


429 


TO    A    YOUNG    LADY, 

ON    RECEIVING    A    PRESENT    OF    FLOWERS,    WHICH    SHE    CALLED 
EMBLEMS    OF    FRIENDSHIP. 


I  THANK  you,  my  dearest :   'twas  kind  to  send 
A  proof  of  love  to  your  faithful  friend  ; 
And,  though.  I  have  long  since  learned  to  fear, 
From  the  hard- won  lesson  of  many  a  year, 
That  the  faithless  heart  very  seldom  shares 
In  the  language  of  feeling  the  tongue  declares, 
I  will  still  believe,  that,  at  least  in  youth, 
There  may  be  a  union  of  friendship  and  truth. 

Besides,  I  am  glad  to  see  the  flowers  ; 
They  remind  my  heart  of  its  greener  hours, 
When  all  the  present,  the  future,  and  past 
Were  a  vision  of  pleasure  too  bright  to  last. 
Emblems  of  friendship  they  may  be  now  ; 
They  are  torn  away  from  their  parent  bough ; 
But  they  were  not  so  when  they  used  to  stand 
Beneath  the  care  of  a  lovely  hand, 
And  seemed  as  if  grateful  and  proud  to  shed 
Their  fragrance  round  on  their  native  bed ; 
And  the  light  breeze  whispered  its  joy  to  bear 
Their  perfume  away  to  the  evening  air. 

They  are  like  friendship,  when  noon-day  showers 
Have  torn  them  down  from  their  native  bowers ; 


430  TO    A    YOUNG    LADY. 

When  cold  and  withered  their  branches  lie 

In  the  careless  steps  of  the  passer-by  : 

Or  when  the  maiden  delights  to  wear 

Their  green  in  the  wreaths  of  her  braided  hair, 

To  brighten  her  charms  on  some  festive  day  ; 

And  then  like  a  friend  to  be  cast  away, 

Or  folded  down  in  some  holy  book, 

In  which  she  is  never  again  to  look : 

Or  given  away  to  some  favored  youth, 

In  the  silent  language  he  takes  for  truth ; 

To  be  worn  and  worshipped,  and  fondly  pressed 

By  day  and  night  to  his  foolish  breast ; 

Till  he  finds  that  the  flowers  will  be  blooming  on, 

When  the  love  that  gave  them  is  long  since  gone  ; 

And  their  beauty  may  perish  whenever  it  will ; 

The  flowers  of  the  heart  may  be  frailer  still. 

'Tis  the  fault  of  nature  ;  for  ask  your  heart, 
If  its  own  warm  feelings  do  not  depart ; 
If  it  never  breathed  a  delighted  vow 
To  friends  it  will  scarcely  remember  now : 
And  yet  in  yourself  you  do  not  condemn 
The  change  of  feeling  you  censure  in  them. 
Oh  !  no  ;  for  friendship  will  not  be  true  ; 
And  the  radiant  star  of  the  morning  dew, 
Which  the  zephyr  dries  with  its  gentle  wing, 
Is  as  brilliant,  as  fair,  and  as  vain  a  thing. 

I've  seen  the  gaze  of  an  altered  eye, 

And  the  hand  held  from  rue  I  knew  not  why ; 

I've  heard  the  footsteps  of  friends  who  fled, 

When  sickness  hung  over  my  weary  bed ; 

And  I  thought  that  the  heart  might  be  warmed  as  soon 

By  the  last  cold  ray  of  the  waning  moon. 


TO    A    YOUNG    LADY.  431 

I  would  trust  as  soon  to  the  meteor-spark 
That  misled  the  course  of  the  shipwrecked  bark, 
As  confide  in  the  perjured,  betraying  kiss 
That  friendship  gives  in  a  world  like  this. 

But  they  were  not  all,  —  and  while  they  were  changed, 
There  were  some  whose  feeling  no  time  estranged ; 
Whose  words  of  kindness  were  true  to  the  last, 
As  the  leaf  endures  when  summer  is  past. 

Then,  if  there  is  friendship  which  can  be  true, 

May  its  best  affections  be  pledged  to  you  ! 

If  there  are  hearts  you  love  to  cherish, 

If  there  are  feelings  that  will  not  perish, 

May  they  strew  their  blessings  around  your  way, 

From  this  morning  hour  to  your  latest  day  ! 

If  the  hope  that  before  you  so  bright  appears, 

Has  risen  in  smiles  to  go  down  in  tears ; 

If  the  star  of  promise,  that  blazes  high, 

Be  quenched  in  the  clouds  of  a  stormy  sky ; 

May  a  hand  as  true,  and  more  dear  than  mine, 

Be  near  to  support  you  in  life's  decline, 

Till  you  reach  the  mansions  of  heavenly  rest, 

Where  friends  unite,  and  their  loves  are  blest ! 

1824. 


432 


M  O  N  A  D  X  0  C  K. 


UPON  the  far-off  mountain's  brow 

The  angry  storm  has  ceased  to  beat, 
And  broken  clouds  are  gathering  now 

In  lowly  reverence  round  his  feet. 
I  saw  their  dark  and  crowded  bands 

On  his  firm  head  in  wrath  descending ; 
But  there,  once  more  redeemed,  he  stands, 

And  heaven's  clear  arch  is  o'er  him  bending. 

I've  seen  him  when  the  rising  sun 

Shone  like  a  watch-fire  on  the  height ; 
I've  seen  him  when  the  day  was  done, 

Bathed  in  the  evening's  crimson  light ; 
I've  seen  him  in  the  midnight  hour, 

When  all  the  world  beneath  were  sleeping, 
Like  some  lone  sentry  in  his  tower 

His  patient  watch  in  silence  keeping. 

And  there,  as  ever  steep  and  clear, 

That  pyramid  of  Nature  springs  ! 
He  owns  no  rival  turret  near, 

No  sovereign  but  the  King  of  kings  : 
While  many  a  nation  hath  passed  by, 

And  many  an  age  unknown  in  story, 
His  walls  and  battlements  on  high 

He  rears  in  melancholy  glory. 


MONADNOCK.  433 

And  let  a  world  of  human  pride 

With  all  its  grandeur  melt  away, 
And  spread  around  his  rocky  side 

The  broken  fragments  of  decay  ; 
Serene  his  hoary  head  will  tower, 

Untroubled  by  one  thought  of  sorrow  : 
He  numbers  not  the  weary  hour ; 

He  welcomes  not  nor  fears  to-morrow. 

Farewell !     I  go  my  distant  way  : 

Perhaps,  not  far  in  future  years, 
The  eyes  that  glow  with  smiles  to-day 

May  gaze  upon  thee  dim  with  tears. 
Then  let  me  learn  from  thee  to  rise, 

All  time  and  chance  and  change  defying, 
Still  pointing  upward  to  the  skies, 

And  on  the  inward  strength  relying. 

If  life  before  my  weary  eye 

Grows  fearful  as  the  angry  sea, 
Thy  memory  shall  suppress  the  sigh 

For  that  which  never  more  can  be ; 
Inspiring  all  within  the  heart 

With  firm  resolve  and  strong  endeavor 
To  act  a  brave  and  faithful  part, 

Till  life's  short  warfare  ends  for  ever. 

1824. 


37 


434 


ON   SEEING  A  DECEASED  INFANT. 


AND  this  is  death  !  how  cold  and  still, 

And  yet  how  lovely  it  appears  ! 
Too  cold  to  let  the  gazer  smile, 

But  far  too  beautiful  for  tears. 
The  sparkling  eye  no  more  is  bright, 

The  cheek  hath  lost  its  rose-like  red ; 
And  yet  it  is  with  strange  delight 

I  stand  and  gaze  upon  the  dead. 

But  when  I  see  the  fair  wide  brow 

Half  shaded  by  the  silken  hair, 
That  never  looked  so  fair  as  now, 

When  life  and  health  were  laughing  there, 
I  wonder  not  that  grief  should  swell 

So  wildly  upward  in  the  breast, 
And  that  strong  passion  once  rebel, 

That  need  not,  cannot  be  suppressed. 

I  wonder  not  that  parents'  eyes, 

In  gazing  thus,  grow  cold  and  dim ; 
That  burning  tears  and  aching  sighs 

Are  blended  with  the  funeral  hymn. 
The  spirit  hath  an  earthly  part, 

That  weeps  when  earthly  pleasure  flies  ; 
And  Heaven  would  scorn  the  frozen  heart 

That  melts  not  when  the  infant  dies. 


ON  SEEING  A  DECEASED  INFANT.  43-5 

And  yet  why  mourn  ?  That  deep  repose 

Shall  never  more  be  broke  by  pain  ; 
Those  lips  no  more  in  sighs  unclose, 

Those  eyes  shall  never  weep  again. 
For  think  not  that  the  blushing  flower 

Shall  wither  in  the  churchyard  sod  : 
'Twas  made  to  gild  an  angel's  bower 

Within  the  paradise  of  God. 

Once  more  I  gaze,  —  and  swift  and  far 

The  clouds  of  death  and  sorrow  fly  ; 
I  see  thee  like  a  new-born  star, 

Mo-ve  up  thy  pathway  in  the  sky  : 
The  star  hath  rays  serene  and  bright, 

But  cold  and  pale  compared  with  thine  ; 
For  thy  orb  shines  with  heavenly  light, 

With  beams  unfailing  and  divine. 

Then  let  the  burthened  heart  be  free, 

The  tears  of  sorrow  all  be  shed, 
And  parents  calmly  bend  to  see 

The  mournful  beauty  of  the  dead  ; 
Thrice  happy  that  their  infant  bears 

To  Heaven  no  darkening  stain  of  sin, 
And  only  breathed  life's  morning  airs 

Before  its  evening  storms  begin. 

Farewell !  I  shall  not  soon  forget ! 

Although  thy  heart  hath  ceased  to  beat, 
My  memory  warmly  treasures  yet 

Thy  features  calm  and  mildly  sweet. 
But  no  :   that  look  is  not  the  last ; 

We  yet  may  meet  where  seraphs  dwell, 
Where  love  no  more  deplores  the  past, 

Nor  breathes  that  withering  word,  —  Farewell  ! 

1825. 


436 


EXTRACT  FROM  A  POEM, 


AND  THE  WATERS  WERE  ABATED. 


Now  life  looks  smiling  on  the  world  again ; 
The  bright  waves  dance,  the  ocean  lifts  its  voice, 
Rejoicing  that  its  work  of  death  is  done  ; 
The  forests  send  from  out  their  caverned  green 
The  solemn  fulness  of  the  organ's  tone, 
Deep  as  it  rolls  in  temples  made  with  hands ; 
The  boundless  fields  unroll  their  velvet  green, 
Where  the  tired  eye  may  rest  with  calm  delight ; 
The  infant  buds  burst  all  their  prisoning  shells, 
And  varied  brilliants  gem  the  hills  and  vales 
Like  sprinklings  from  the  morning's  changing  cloud, 
Or  the  fallen  rainbow  shivered  into  flowers. 
But  high  o'er  all  the  rainbow  firmly  springs  ; 
For  now  the  sun  hath  scaled  the  barrier  hills, 
And,  slowly  rising  from  his  mountain-throne, 
Smiles  on  the  lovely  stranger  of  the  heavens 
That  fronts  him  on  the  purple  robe  of  clouds, 
Whose  dark  folds  roll  in  majesty  away. 
'Tis  beautiful  !     Admiring  hearts  and  eyes 
Are  wondering  raised,  as  if  the  angel  files, 
With  arms  yet  burning  from  the  radiant  blaze, 
Thronged  in  bright  circle  round  the  long-lost  world, 
To  hail  its  rising  from  its  watery  tomb. 


437 


'Tis  beautiful!  —  and  all  their  hearts  are  peace; 
No  more  they  ponder  on  the  lately  dead, 
Or  dream  how  soon  their  own  despair  may  come  ; 
Their  fears  and  sorrows  find  repose  at  last, 
For  God  hath  said  it,  and  their  hearts  reply 
That  God's  own  hand  hath  bent  its  arching  tower, 
And  joined  its  colored  circles  in  the  heaven, 
That  all  might  read  the  language  of  his  love, 
Oft  as  it  drives  the  angry  storm  away, 
And  breathes  its  calmness  on  the  world  below. 
Man  would  have  stamped  it  in  recording  brass, 
Or  graved  it  in  the  everlasting  rock  ; 
But  God  hath  framed  it  finer  than  the  air, 
With  tints  as  frail  as  those  of  slenderest  flowers, 
Or  evening  clouds  that  fade  beneath  the  view. 

Thousands  of  years  have  risen  and  passed  away,  — 
Stars  have  expired,  and  yet  the  rainbow  lives 
In  all  the  brightness  of  its  earlier  light, 
On  Nature's  festivals  to  span  the  heavens, 
Till  the  last  heart  of  man  shall  cease  to  beat, 
When  mountains  melt,  and  rocks  are  rent  with  fires, 
And  ocean  rolls  its  latest  wave  away. 

1826, 


438 


"  MAN  GIVETH  UP  THE  GHOST,  AND  WHERE 
IS  HE?" 


WHERE  is  he  ?     Hark  !  his  lonely  home 

Is  answering  to  the  mournful  call ! 
The  setting  sun  with  dazzling  blaze 

May  fire  the  windows  of  his  hall ; 
But  evening  shadows  quench  the  light, 

And  all  is  cheerless,  cold,  and  dim, 
Save  where  one  taper  wakes  at  night, 

Like  weeping  love  remembering  him. 

Where  is  he  ?     Hark  !  the  friend  replies  : 

"  I  watched  beside  his  dying  bed, 
And  heard  the  low  and  struggling  sighs 

That  gave  the  living  to  the  dead ; 
I  saw  his  weary  eyelids  close, 

And  then  —  the  ruin  coldly  cast, 
Where  all  the  loving  and  beloved, 

Though  sadly  parted,  meet  at  last." 

Where  is  he  ?     Hark  !  the  marble  says, 

That  "  here  the  mourners  laid  his  head ; 
And  here  sometimes,  in  after-days, 

They  came,  and  sorrowed  for  the  dead : 
But  one  by  one  they  passed  away, 

And  soon  they  left  me  here  alone 
To  sink  in  unobserved  decay,  — 

A  nameless  and  neglected  stone." 


"  MAN    GIVETH    UP   THE    GHOST,"    ETC.  439 

Where  is  he  ?     Hark !  'tis  Heaven  replies  : 

"  The  star-beam  of  the  purple  sky, 
That  looks  beneath  the  evening's  brow, 

Mild  as  some  beaming  angel's  eye, 
As  calm  and  clear  it  gazes  down, 

Is  shining  from  the  place  of  rest, 
The  pearl  of  his  immortal  crown, 

The  heavenly  radiance  of  the  blest !  " 


440 


PERICLES, 

When  his  friends  and  family  were  dead,  and  he  himself  was  disgraced  by  the 
Athenians,  showed  no  sign  of  emotion,  till,  at  the  funeral  of  his  last  surviv 
ing  son,  he  burst  into  tears  as  he  attempted  to  place  the  funeral  garland  on 
his  head. 


"  WHO  are  these  with  mournful  tread, 
Wailing  for  the  youthful  dead  ? 
Wherefore  do  the  following  crowd 
Breathe  their  sullen  murmurs  loud  ?  — 
And  He  ?  the  gathering  crowds  retire 
Before  his  eye's  commanding  fire  : 
The  lines  of  age  are  in  his  face, 
But  time  bends  not  his  martial  grace, 

Nor  sorrow  bows  his  head  ; 
And,  while  the  maddening  throng  condemn, 
He  hath  not  even  a  thought  for  them : 

His  soul  is  with  the  dead !  " 

Stranger,  'twould  fire  my  aged  cheek 
That  deeply  injured  name  to  speak : 
'Twas  once  the  Athenian's  breath  of  life, 
The  watchword  of  the  bloodiest  strife  ; 
For,  when  he  led  the  marshalled  brave, 
His  galley  rode  the  foremost  wave ; 
And,  when  the  thundering  shock  began, 
His  sword  was  blazing  in  the  van. 

Who  hath  not  seen  the  stormy  crowd 
Before  his  mild  persuasion  bowed ; 


PERICLES.  441 

Or  sunk  to  earth  as  o'er  them  passed 
His  burning  accents  fierce  and  fast  ? 
Like  the  breeze  the  meadow  bending, 

Lightly  in  its  evening  play, 
Like  the  storm  the  mountain  rending, 

Hurrying  on  its  whirlwind-way, 
He  told  the  funeral  praise  of  those 
Who  fell  before  our  Samian  foes  ; 
He  made  our  hearts  with  rapture  swell, 
That  Athens  triumphed  when  they  fell : 
But  when  he  changed  the  scene  again, 
And  showed  them  bleeding  on  the  plain, 

Far  from  all  that  life  endears, 
We  wept  for  those  ill-fated  men, 
And  knew  not  which  was  mightiest  then, 

The  glory  or  the  tears. 

Look  within  that  marble  court, 

Where  the  sculptured  fount  is  playing ; 

See  the  youth,  in  innocent  sport, 
Each  his  mimic  fleet  arraying ; 

See  the  yellow  sunbeams  fall 

Through  the  garden's  wreathing  wall, 

Where  fruit-groves  paint  with  sweetness  lean 

Their  ponderous  flakes  of  massy  green, 

In  which  the  mansion's  turrets  sleep 

Like  sunny  islands  in  the  deep. 

Those  courts  are  mine ;  and,  but  for  him, 

My  blood  had  died  that  fountain's  brim  ; 

And  cold  and  blackened  ruins  pressed 

The  spot  so  peaceful,  calm,  and  blest. 

Look  round  on  many  a  roof,  excelling 
The  splendor  of  a  prince's  dwelling  ; 


442 


PERICLES. 

And  mark  those  groves  in  shady  ranks, 
Climbing  up  the  marble  banks 

To  where  yon  dark  hill  towers 
Like  Athens  in  her  virgin  pride, 
Surveying  far  on  every  side 

Her  wide-extended  powers. 
Look  !  for  my  aged  eyes  are  dim,  — 
'Tis  glorious  !  and  'tis  all  from  him. 
The  Parthenon  rears  its  pearly  crown, 
Fair,  as  if  Heaven  had  sent  it  down  ; 
But  he  that  temple  upward  threw, 
Against  the  clear  transparent  blue. 
Like  our  own  goddess,  from  the  head 

Of  Jove  in  youth  immortal  springing, 
A  gentle  grace  is  round  it  shed, 

Far,  far  abroad  its  radiance  flinging. 
The  many-colored  tints  of  day 
Around  its  finish  love  to  play, 
And  gild  its  pillars  light  and  proud, 
As  gravings  from  the  evening  cloud  ; 
He  made  the  marble  spring  to  earth 
In  all  this  loveliness  of  birth  ; 
A  thing  for  nations  to  adore 
And  love,  but  never  rival  more. 

Go  to  the  battle's  stormy  plain, 
Where  clanging  squadrons  charge  again, 
And  read  the  war-cry  on  their  lips  ; 
Or  go  to  Athens'  thousand  ships, 
And  ask  what  name  of  power  presides 
Above  the  battle  of  the  tides  ; 
And  when  the  harp  of  after- days 
Is  ringing  high  to  notes  of  praise, 


PERICLES. 

Go,  read  what  name  has  longest  hung 
Upon  the  true  Athenian's  tongue. 

"  Injured  old  man  !  and  can  it  be, 
Thy  country  hath  rewarded  thee, 
By  striving  with  ungenerous  aim 
To  change  thy  glory  into  shame  ?  " 

Death  struck  the  dearest  from  his  side, 

Till  none  were  left  but  one  ; 
And  now  he  mourns  that  only  pride, 

His  sole  surviving  son. 
He  kept  the  sternness  of  his  heart, 

The  brightness  of  his  eye  ; 
But  death  hath  struck  the  tenderest  part, 

And  he  begins  to  die. 
He  hath  none  left  to  bear  disgrace.  — 

"  Oh  may  it  fall  on  Athens'  race  ! 
May  they  go  down  to  well-earned  graves 
Of  thankless  and  dishonored  slaves  ! 
How  many  a  time  in  future  years 
Shall  they  recall  with  hopeless  tears 
That  glorious  day's  departed  sun, 
When  Athens  and  renown  were  one. 
Then  the  Greek  maid  will  fain  discover 
Thy  spirit  in  her  youthful  lover  ; 
And  matrons  press  their  infants'  charms 
With  warmer  triumph  in  their  arms, 
When  breathing  prayers  that  they  may  see 
Their  darling  child  resembling  thee  !  " 

The  hero  by  the  burial  stands 

With  head  declined  and  folded  hands  ; 


443 


444  PERICLES. 

But  when  he  vainly  tries  to  spread 
The  garland  on  that  marble  head, 
At  once  upon  his  memory  throng 
The  thoughts  of  unresented  wrong  ; 
The  thankless  land  he  could  not  save, 
The  home  now  colder  than  the  grave ; 
And  bursts  of  grief,  with  sudden  start, 
Spring  upward  in  his  withered  heart. 
'Tis  but  a  moment,  —  and  'tis  past ; 
That  moment's  frenzy  is  the  last : 

His  eye  no  more  is  dim. 
But  bitterer  tears  than  these  shall  fall 
Within  the  guilty  city's  wall, 

When  Athens  weeps  for  him. 

1826. 


44-" 


LINES     T  0 


She  died  "  as  the  grass 
Which  withereth  afore  it  groweth  up  ; 
Wherewith  the  mower  fiUeth  not  his  hand, 
Neither,  he  that  hindeth  sheaves  his  bosom. 


WHILE  the  poor  wanderer  of  life  is  in  this  vale  of  tears, 
There  will  be  hours  when  hearts  look  back  to  dear  de 
parted  years  : 

Around  him  night  is  falling  fast,  he  feels  the  evening  chills, 
But  sees  warm  sunshine  lingering  yet  on  youth's  far-dis 
tant  hills. 

The  lovely  form  of  youthful  hope  revisits  his  sad  heart, 
And  joy  that  long  since  bade  farewell,  but  could  not  quite 

depart, 
And  friendship  once  so  passing  sweet,  too  pure  and  strong 

to  die, 
And  those  delicious  tears  of  love  he  did  not  wish  to  dry. 

Oft  I  remember  thus,  and  feel  the  mystery  of  the  hour ; 
I  know  not  then  if  joy  or  grief  possess  the  mightier  power : 
While  many  a  loved  departed  one  'tis  pleasure  to  recall, 
'Tis  anguish  to  remember  thee,  the  loveliest  of  them  all. 

Yes  !    sadly  welcomed  and  with  tears  is  now,  and  long- 
must  be, 

The  memory  of  my  parting  hour,  my  earliest  friend,  from 
thee  : 

33 


446  LINKS    TO    . 

For   common  hopes  and  common  joys  I  deeply  mourn 

apart ; 
But  the  remembrance  of  the  loss,  —  it  thunderstrikes  the 

heart. 

For,  oh  !  how  fast  and  fervently,  when  life  is  in  its  spring, 

Hand  bound  to  hand,  and  heart  to  heart,  the  young  affec 
tions  cling ; 

By  early  and  unaltering  love  our  souls  were  joined  in 
one, 

With  ties  that  death  hath  burst  indeed,  but  never  hath 
undone. 

Now   death    hath   thrown   us   wide   apart  ;    but  memory 

treasures  yet  — 

Too  painful  to  remember  now,  too  lovely  to  forget  — 
Thy  manner  like  an  angel's  pure,  thy  mild  and  mournful 

grace, 
And  all  the  rosy  light  of  youth  that  kindled  in  thy  face ; 

The  open  brow  with  sunny  curls  around  its  arches  thrown, 

The  speaking  eye  through  which  the  soul  in  melting  ra 
diance  shone, 

The  smile  that  lighted  up  the  lip  with  bright  and  pensive 
glow, 

And  the  dark  shade  that  o'er  it  passed,  when  tears  began 
to  flow. 

And  then  how  sternly  beautiful  the  spirit  bold  and  high 
That  lighted  o'er  thy  marble  brow,  and  filled  thy  radiant 

eye, 

When,  seated  by  the  evening  fire,  or  rambling  side  by  side, 
We  read  how  holy  sufferers  lived,  or   glorious   martyrs 

died. 


LINKS    TO 


447 


And  thus  with  feeling  all  the  same,  with  bright  and  ear 
nest  eye, 

We  held  communion  long  and  sweet  with  ocean,  earth, 
and  sky  : 

They  told  the  glory  of  our  God,  they  bore  our  thoughts 
above, 

And  made  us  purer  as  we  heard  their  eloquence  of  love. 

And  so  within  the  temple-walls  we  stood  with  childish 

awe, 
And  wondered  why  our  fathers  feared  a  God  they  never 

saw, 
Till  we  had  learned  and  loved  to  raise  our  early  offering 

there, 
To  join  the  deep  and  plaintive  hymn,  or  pour  our  souls 

in  prayer. 

Was  this  a  happiness  too  pure  for  erring  man  to  know  ? 
Or  why  did  Heaven  so  soon  destroy  my  happiness  below  ? 
For,  lovely  as  the  vision  was,  it  sunk  away  as  soon 
As  when,  in  quick  and  cold  eclipse,  the  sun  grows  dark 
at  noon. 

I  gazed  with  trembling  in  thine  eye,  —  its  living  light  was 

fled; 

Upon  thy  cheek  was  deeply  stained  the  cold  unusual  red  : 
The  violet  vein  that  wandered  up  beneath  thy  shining  hair 
Contrasted  with  thy  snowy  brow,  —  the  seal  of  death  was 

there  ! 

And  then  thy  sweet  and  gentle  voice  confirmed  that  we 

must  part,  — 
That  voice  whose  every  tone,  till  then,  was  music  to  my 

heart  : 


448  LINES    TO 


I   shuddered   at    the  warning  words,  —  I   could   not   let 

thee  go, 
And  leave  me  journeying  here  alone  in   weariness   and 

woe. 

But  thou  art  gone,  too  early  gone,  and   I  am  doomed  to 

stay, 

Perhaps  till  many  a  year  has  rolled  its  weary  weight  away  : 
Thou  wast  the  glory  of  my  heart,  my  hopes  were  heavenly 

fair, 
But  now  my  guiding  star  is  set  in  darkness  and  despair. 

'Tis  thus  the  stream  in  early  life  before  us  seems  to  run, 
Now  stealing  through  the  fragrant  shade,  now  sparkling 

in  the  sun  ; 
But  soon  it  breaks  upon  the  rock  with  wild  and  mournful 

roar, 
Or,  heavily  spread  upon  the  plain,  lies  slumbering  on  the 

shore. 

1826. 


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